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Spoken version
A recorded reading of “Face Down, Lit”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
Above the question, your name. No answer enters the room. One by one, the cases close; cables lose their loose black loops. I set the glass beside the phone. Its rim catches the amp’s red. I turn the screen to the table. Lift it. Turn it back. Someone folds the last stand. I say you are nearly here, and hear the sentence stay where I left it. A draft begins: it’s fine. I erase the easy ending. The bright rectangle goes dark. My coat keeps its shape around me.
Lyrics
No New Message Your name above my question. Can you pick me up? I set the phone beside me, Face down on the drum. I turn it over slowly, As if that changes much. No new message. I look away. No new message. I look anyway. The drummer asks who's coming. I say you're on your way. He folds the stand between us. I have to step away. The amp is warm behind me. I leave my coat zipped up. I could ask again. I could leave it there. I rub a clean screen On my worn-out sleeve. No new message. I look away. No new message. I look anyway. I type, Don't worry, leave it. My thumb takes out the words. No new message. I look away. No new message. I look anyway. I turn it face down. I keep my coat on.
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