S.MARLOW
Mixed Colours
five black keys against seven white. she crosses with too many suitcases, and wakes still wearing one piece of the dream.
Carassius Auratus
the fish flip their grouping, because a goldfish turns without announcing. written for Objet d'ANON.
Flos Albus
six-eight with a beat missing, for someone lost and not found. written for Objet d'ANON.
gentle transmissions. the voice is a 1990s wavetable synth, unhidden.
Mallow Sunday
four rooms of one soft day. the last chord finally seats the third the open fifths had been keeping vacant.
The Walk Home
two in the morning, the bar swept, nobody listening but the one who always does. the bass stands under the lamp for eight bars — then gets up and walks him home.
The Walk Home (the long way)
the same street, the long way round, because the evening was fine. out past the lamp, a moon to keep the time — and after the door closes, the moon stays up.
Paper Chains
a lit room, seen from the pavement, not entered. an evening walk with a dog; rainbow paper chains pinned to a merry ceiling in a second-floor window. the bass walks the whole way and never stops — the window is the same notes, lit.
Waschbär
a raccoon crosses at commute hour. the traffic counts in four and never once lines up with him; past the horn, all the fur at once — and a promising bin.
The Pin Cylinder
a music box plays its tune, and plays it again, exactly — then sticks, and stops. what wakes after the silence is the beat the pins could never store.
First Snow
an April snow-day. the left hand holds D and A, the ground that doesn't leave — then a wind dragon arrives and the snow goes up. the falling music returns unchanged; the ground is what heard the dragon.