This could be hard to crack.

I'm playing that tape,
other side from Pavarotti.
I cannot help but hear,
and grow to love it dearly.

Always seems to know
when /those/ thoughts soar through me,
and those thoughts sear.
We know our cues, clearly.

I swear it knows instinctively
just when, a-la matrix phone,
or the girl who always lets you know
she's about to call.

Knows it all.
And what I share is shadow,
the icing, not the cake,
not marrow, friend, but bone.

Simply, there is a spiritual sense
which I lack. I'm working,
listening to three mantras,
could be hard to crack.


Cor, April 2001