Ground Offensive

Now it's Ligeti's turn, his black music

pulled over your face like a stocking in cutthroat

dread, and you make to reach out

and stop its advance but it slams you back

against the wall – this isn't what you wanted,

this is agitato, this is micropolyphonic,

as if you knew what that meant, but go on,

the Transylvanian child in you says: I’m your hostage,

let the alpenhorn sound its warning as white

phosphorus streaks the skies, tell me, what

has become of us, boom, boom, boom –

those are electrodes you took for earphones.

GABRIEL LEVIN