“there is no limit to the volume?” queried Balthazar él Dali, Watchman Emeritus of Gibraltar Sunrises, a unicorn

_{“hit play, wait 37 seconds, then begin reading the poem below; many thanks.” – Balthazar}

awaken, ye all, hark, for unicorns approach

there were too many simultaneous things going on

no, not toooo many, but they hit the cap

like how much Prince needed Jimmy Jam to do, beyond just his keyboard line

we are all lucky, even if we don’t yet know Jacob Collier, to be on the planet, as he is

we all have roughly the same skull size and brain volume

Jacob just has more synapses, i presume

never thee less

~~~

we are all lucky, but clearly,

the percussionist is the most lucky, hark!

she shows up at 9:11 [get over it]

by that time, Balthazar is already approaching full speed,

so fast, that time is blurring

also blurring is the red of the percussionist’s hair, into Balthazar’s mane

exactly like hers, black as obsidian, with the red

[though since we know Balthazar, we know he is ranging through all words that could improve upon the mere “red”]

in blurred time, the percussionist is riding him, on only a deeeep green riding blanket

if time skipped

both would die, from the sudden

jolt

that’s why it has to blur

and it blurs because the percussionist, while riding, is also sprinting manically, trying

to catch Balthazar, and leap on

linearity, apparently is also fluid

because

at 9:11, she is invited in to be the llllllllloud inflection point cue

the hark

the harbinger

the startle

and the tugging

the transition, to…

well, only Balthazar knows!

s.e~b
2026.04.02
1233-219am