Tonal Whispers from the Ghost Shrimp – Chris Moran

instead of leaves falling
there should be ghost-white shrimp
that whisper tales of the past

and instead of crickets
you just hear thousands of whispers

butterflies were used as light bulbs when the whispers
tell us the raw egg milkshake ingredients
whispers of the butterfly
and the invisible ocelot that spoke to me
was full of theoretical particles and Oort cloud residue

it was an iconic windmill that
framed a syllogism
and darkened fumes

it was a barnacle that wore pants
that gave us a more wave-istic approach to the
entertainment-industrial complex

the corporate shills taught us to be
ethical wealthy humanitarian philanthropists
but it became cool to be subverted
and stuck in a dichotomy
several decades out of date

so I became a true citizen of the matrix
and replaced my own thoughts
with a bucket of glyphosate
perpetually in thrall to the ravaged psychodome

by the time those thoughts weighted down
I felt a kind of plastic eye switch over
and guard those dreams deliriously
in the slipstream blood-light

in the elastic light
vectors of low-vibrational consciousness
scorched the tone of my beautiful soul
but my beauty elevated in a stream of wave-istic tensegrity
and the vibrational hemispheres
have their way of spherically communicating things

when I was listening to a cassette recording
of Dietrich Buxtehude played in an empty field
in between bursts of television static
from the emergency broadcast system
hijacked by fake aliens living inside hollow earth

or a cassette recording
of Michael Nyman’s music from Prospero’s Books
played with the resonance
of an alien vibration with mixed in whale noises
in between splashes of Stiggins’ Fancy Pineapple Rum
and the religious poetry of Vladimir Solovyov
but I wasn’t even imagining that

I am a beautiful sphere on an 18th century battleship
vibrating outside of time in a spherical way
in a chorale of the soul of the most traditional religious
tightly knit brutal sense of order
with a type of freakzilla geometry guiding the way

when I am using a scented candle as a walkie-talkie
speaking into the flame
the most beauteous guiding flame
spilling hot wax on my hand as I am talking into the flame

the freakazoid flame enveloping a spherical soul
in a rainbow-istic endeavor to deepen another kind of flame
when life is a flame
and I can feel the flame
and everything is a flame

but what I’m really doing is mechanically rotating things
that are different grades of steel
and doing things to the steel
that I believe were originally engineered by Leonardo da Vinci
the inventor of continuous mechanical rotation
in a rotational fashion
a couple thousand rotations per minute
rotating in a semi-spherical type of way
in a wave-istic type of way
when metal is the vibrational thing
that is vibrating against another vibrating thing
and I feel a beautiful tonality that is like a flame
a subtle and tonal flame
flame within flame
vibrating like the shredded metal
burning away inside of a sequential sphere
inside of a sphere, vibrating metal