Sonified Energies, but Less Vague

Energizers develop their butter layers
croissanting the path to the end of the street

The map looks like a brain, winding in on it
self, raining lanes like a sideways sleet

Walking talks itself out of running up
hill, breaking its strides down to per

sonified fiddle sticks, stuck to the boulder
that must be shouldered back up the cosmic

causeway, a reverse black hole materializing
all the past imaginations that were put down

deconstructed nowhere, until today, when they
flare into the breaded lines of this rather older face