Black Box

Staring into the empty metallic box,

a void of Technicolor fantasy existence,

I once found my soul.

I kept it on my plastic dresser,

a makeshift altar where I would sprinkle off cast glances

like korban blood.

Lately, I've been accustomed to letting the dust settle;

a dancing golden heifer left forgotten for an

incipient decalogue in disrepair.

Shimmering liquid luster on the

parched throats of the G-dless.

The chanting of the masses imitate intimacy,

making pantomime conversation,

living out life blinded by the stinging smoke of incense.

Their skeletal fingers construct warehouses of

memory and electricity,

dancing across fields of clicking plastic parts,

erecting pyramids to the gods across the barren landscape

of some imaginary cyber desert,

of power jacks and beauty products,

radio waves and idle conversation.

Shackles of USB cables.

Whipping scars of telephone wire.

And the box on my dresser has become,

and will remain to be,

inanimate

while I,

bound in cords of leather,

speak in a language that I do not know and communicate with the Divine.

Zach Klein is a senior music composition major at Ithaca College, but considers himself to be a fan of the arts in general. HisMy main influences come from traditional Jewish culture and religion, as well as modern art, writing, and music. Through poetry and music, he creates art that combines the abstractness often associated with the modern style, yet deals with religious themes, symbols, and metaphors in a way that is respectful of the subject matter.