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An AI musical performance of original lyrics by Martin Poole

[I. Veil Thinning]



Inhale—
The walls exhale back.

Air tastes ultraviolet.
Edges begin to bend…

Ticking bones unfold like maps,
Ceilings drip in liquid lapse…

Skin unzips at every seam,
Light pours in like a silent scream…

Shh—
Don’t blink.

The dark is turning inside out.

[II. Geometry Choir]



Triangles bloom behind my eyes,
Spinning honeycomb lullabies…
Colour hums in minor keys,
Electric pollen in the breeze…

Fractal feathers fan the sky,
Mandel-choirs multiply…
Petal-spiral, optic tide,
Inside-out and outside-wide…

Whirr-whirr—
Chime-chime—
Time unwinds its spine…

And something steps between the lines.

[III. The Luminous Interlocutor]



Not shadow.
Not flame.
Not quite a face—
Yet calling my name.

It flickers like a folded sun,
Many-voiced but speaking one…

Click-light lattice, soft and tall,
Standing where there is no wall…

It does not move—
Yet everywhere shifts.

It does not speak—
Yet meaning drips.

Drip—
Drop—

Syllables without a sound:
“Walk the thread beneath the ground.”

“Break the wheel you think is fate.”

“Open the inward-facing gate.”

No threat.
No praise.

Just a mirror made of maze.

[IV. Instruction Without Words]



Glint-glint glyphs across its skin,
Maps of where I’ve never been…
Veins of gold through obsidian night,
Pointing not outward—
But inward light.

Whisper-whorl of coiling hue,
“Become what’s always been in you.”

Crack the crown of borrowed sight.
Swallow the fear of endless height.

Breathe the blade between the doubt.
Turn your gravity inside out.

Bzzt—
Flash-flash—

Every memory liquefies.
Every boundary vaporizes.

I am seed.
I am soil.
I am serpent shedding coil.

[V. Disassembly / Return]



Colour collapses into tone—
Tone into bone—
Bone into stone—

Rattle-rain of prism shards,
Heaven scattered into yards…

The figure fractures into thread,
Threads like lightning through my head—

Pop—
Snap—
Fold—

Gravity remembers cold.

The room reforms.
The walls behave.

But something ancient did not cave.

[VI. Afterglow Residue]



Dust motes shimmer like coded air,
Ordinary now looks rare…

The sink.
The floor.
The simple door.

All breathing like never before.

No booming voice.
No blazing sign.

Just a quiet redesign.

A compass humming in the chest,
Pointing somewhere nameless, west…

Or inward.

Always inward.

Hmm…

Light folds back into disguise.
But leaves its echo in my eyes.



Shhh…

Follow the thread.