John Biscello

Spiders to Mozart,

what luminous webs

and notes we weave,

snot-strands from God’s blown brass,

tapestries of the eternal boombox,

breakbeats to spacefolk to bebop

within a deep forest

kind of blue,

the music, recorded

or un, plays on

and on, umbilical

in its immaculate tethers

and lighted reach.

(Cyanotype by Christian Marclay)