Laser Beam

“Laser Beam,” by Low.

The tremelo plunges, you swirl and feel. Drive to work. Walk away from her or him, finally, just finally. “Will this poison scar my eyes?” She asks. She asks and there is no answer. “Mother I need this grace alone.” Mother. Mother. Mother. “I don’t need a laser beam.” Over and over and over and what, what does it mean, this laser beam? The pace is so slow, laborious, grandiosely slow, lumbering. Like the heart, not its beating all rapid, but the heart’s pace, low, submerged, the long-slow exhale. In a song. In a song incomprehensible.