Free in narrow alleyways
That block out sun
Portland
In air
(question:) “evil” on tongue
Darkthrone in headphones
Climbing stairs
To the gallery
Phil sang about in “Soria Moria”
I prefer Balke, Stetind in Fog:
No humans
It transports me back
To that mountain
(Outside Astrup Fearnley
Sun shines down
A book in the grass
While people laugh nearby--
A storm hits
We all run
Plastic chairs fly
And I smile.)
Later at Helvete I’m further back:
Thirteen years old, alone with headphones
Sound blankets my mind
Like pills now
In that basement chills come
Feeling stronger than art
Youth and memory--
That sound once spoke to me, it said: