nightwish was my jam: a poem

Thumping base and opera,
the talk of nomadic mystics
on fire
content to be shut

Those fingers
of timbre and rhythm reached
through my chest and
into my lungs.

They planted seeds that grew
into trees and filled
me up.

in the excluded, in the
crazies and dreamers with
passion eating them
up, unable
to phrase 
it in
a communal way.

I never blushed to be alone, yet my
heart tightened when I
I didn’t know
anyone anymore.

I was so busy writing my own
language, that I

forgot to teach it to
anyone else.


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