Watching Adrianne Lenker Play Guitar with a Paintbrush

By | 1 June 2022

slow-motion cool, calligraphing the air as if to polish sound
to a diamond, as if to brush your way into the core
of the simple progression, everything about you is a light
touch, a deft waltz shuttling fractals across a barn floor in
looping peregrinations, I imagine zooming in close to
the vibrations and getting lost in their gentle chaos
the muted strings humming around me like hair, I imagine
the roughness of the wind as it traffics around the sound hole
pushing waves of dusklight back into the room’s lungs
a breeze whipped up by a fast body in a wide skirt
your weakstrong voice perfect and scarcely believable, your
porcelain mask brittle but whole, I haunt your desert world
as the sun wings through the open windows, a different sun
to mine, older and tired, glowing with the waxy orange of
experience, your song suspended in the atmosphere
like a wince, a smirk, the percussion of ideal love
everything temporary but falling exactly into place, then you
paint yourself and your song out of the picture until all that’s left
is the dry air, the stopped breath, the shock of a heart cracking
under the weight of incomprehensible fullness

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