There is a song my dead father still sings
Its the sound of an orchestra tuning up while the crickets loose their punk rock minds. It blinks and winks from eye to eye like synaptic kisses and is haunted by elephant dreams. It is the suck of a trillion sentient beings feeding at the teat of our infinite black mother. The black madonna at Chartres. An ancient cathedral built over a succession of burned down altars that were built on top of an ancient cave. If you go down into the crypt you can still hear its tuneless roaring whisper. Its black maw reflecting infinite outer space.
