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: