Bottle of Jack

Silk on fingers,

the walls are made of stretched notes,

insistent bass.

I am another strand of thread in this intricate fabric

that keeps the sun from all of our eyes.

Tear me to the beat.

Rip me from your windows

when you tire of my pattern,

as long as i can participate

in this orgy of noise,

this collaboration of intricacies.

Absorb and remake me.

I am amorphous and accepting.

Ask and I will receive you,

scream and I will spin around the room --

but I cannot be what I do not know.