when i’m done, my guitar looks at herself and rolls her eyes. sweat that dripped off me begins crystallising into white salt on her wooden frame. a spider crawls out of her hole, dizzy from the relentless resonance. harmonic dunes of dust settle into her silence.

the world whispers shameful secrets into the wind, buzzing her rusting strings quietly, and like tremors, they shiver down her spine, remembering being held, cradled by the music. a commotion of flutes, distortion, and pulsating synth rock her in and out of her dreams, until she can't tell anything apart, not even the scale.

far away, a best friend plays the piano, making music to mourn annie frank or some other burning memory of love. and the time is signed by elaborate calculations, stubborn to be recognised, like playful jazz fingers flexing his game. she recognises the rhythm, the slightly catapulting syncopations, like a quiet challenge. mixed with the blaring horns and desperate chants stitching the miles together, a meeting is orchestrated.

a singer, wandering the mountains, shapes her breath with her desire. from her belly, the reverberations travel, holding the air in a chokehold- music wrestles with the noise.

everything sings, or some physics like that.

everything dances, or something stubborn like that.

living instruments talk to each other, like an improvising band, eager for new magic, new language, and a blooming song, an unfolding story called time. everything trudges along, teasing my poor abandoned guitar, promising hope and possibility.

sometimes there's romance
sometimes we're useless
what have i done well?

and sometimes when i’m away, a best friend is home, and sees her lost in these thoughts, quiet in the corner. he picks her up, and shaky fingers find her pulse again. her tired tuning pegs strain, bending to his nerves, acoustic and electric, sodium ions singing in his blood. and she remembers my uncertainties, many rooms ago, the songs i wanted to become, the stories he wants to tell, coming together for a moment, and her voice holds it all. she smiles.

etc

living instruments