Chop Chop

 Trying this whole “post once a week” thing. Someone tell the paparazzi to follow this development closely.

Saw sings a symphony

Disrupting rings

Ending a circle

Interrupting the eternal

By making an ending.

High notes trill.

At dead center,

The players shift their instruments.

better angle-

Sharper warble.

Efficient chewing of skin and birthing of sawdust.

Matter is created

Matter is destroyed.

Song,

A lament.

Funeral dirge.

Players hear the song as a Homeric poem.

Those beyond the symphony

Waiting, hearing it later as an echo,

Hear an exultation.

Hymn from bible times.

Something,

Deep in the space of somewhere.

Primal,

Unknowable with vision

Sensed with the goosebumps of suspicion-

Of being watched-

Something hears the song

In all it’s iterations

And quickens its designs

and plans

And desires,

To make itself known to the audience

And everyone else.

Saw is finished.

The players do not bow.

There will be an encore

And another,

And another,

And another,

And another,

And another,

And another,

And-Something waits with home-grown impatience. 

soon, it will interrupt the encore

And play a tune 

of its own making.

And there will be no more iterations or interpretations.

Everyone will know exactly what they are hearing.