a fluorescence of luminescence
gathers to a phosphorescence
of thought control
the music 
spreads an arpeggio
of discordance
that enters the soul
like the Via Appia or
any old Roman Road

mixes of music,
cascades of sound,
control 
the pulse of the shape 
this plastic fantastic
version of summer

the light show
left me cold
I know i’m old
but this fake

‘creation of meaning’
left me seething