about the record

a centrifugal spin collapses inward
sucked into the ground
vibrating with the quake beneath the crust
the folding repeats itself in time
an echo amid the buildings of a primordial era

with closed eyes
the shapes begin to take form
in the debris
objects clump together into conglomerates

a scream
trapped in water-retaining cells
the moss that embeds itself after
a short passage of time
you talk back
but I can’t hear you

something springs forth
somewhere

a remnant that remains