POEM: FOR THE RECORD

I was made to play
You give my garments honor
Even if I am rude
Explicit or clever
Or even in the nude

My square, 31.43cm
Has sides you hold as handles
Before you see my sheath
As white as a lamb

My dark soul blackens your mind
And inserts a question
“What is the connection
To the garments?
What do these grooves
Hold in suspension?”

As mysterious as the sound itself
I present my night
So that the forground you hear
Blends color and light

I am a scratched
And a world beyond time unfolds
Cradles of coils
Wake up caskets of cold

And you walk away
Staggering with new sight
Your biome now has a day
To balance the night

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Image source: https://unsplash.com/@helloimnik