I’m listening to something beautiful
called Metamodern Country I got from a guy
who accidentally martyred a mass murderer
by remixing his manifesto. When you’re trying
to make something beautiful from terror,
you must be careful not to pick the ink
that false-notes an attempt at elegy
or deal with a legion of pings
glutting the comment section’s echo-sounder.
The cave begs you to yell the right things into it
and the dentist’s chair of the mind doesn’t oblige,
so you go mum at the entrance, twelve hundred twenty eight bucks
of gifted spelunking gear unclanking at your feet
while the bad intentions of guano-bowed air await your holler
and the heart, construed to a purr, buckles.