two lines – that’s all I need –
to weave me into a dance
fling me free as a feather
into jazz, metal, blues
and then pop – it’s a soft landing.
two lines alone
to pour confessions into thirsty ears
in a communion of beats, notes, pauses
all in time.
two lines – no more – are all it takes
to ‘store in a cool, dry place’
a dose of shimmering
elixir of life mass-produced
– what good is your erosive entropy
now you’re trapped in a transparent tower?
two lines – no less – are enough
to get lost
two lines exactly
to leave me exposed
and two more still
to bring me home.