rhythmic movement,
I'm a puppet
the drummer controls my feet
my eyes closed
seeking intention of the next
syllabic second, as if
God's purpose could be presupposed
I catch it,
my shoulders, brows and knees bent just so,
I'm off time but only in embracing the melodic
the delay of space, the speed of
sound.
The sound is my pulse,
guitar rifts nervous system chatter,
this is where my fingers go
this is me conducting
yet I am the conduit,
or is the cycle closed?
perfect mirroring vibrations
an emotion unfolds
and in the chaos of the cyclone
something can be felt without
a pull in any direction
without the hastiness of vomiting
without the wrestling to
swallow it,
The dervish whirls
with a hand up to catch the spirit
and a hand down to ground him
This is a formality of
mysticism,
a skilled scribe of the
heavenly
I am no trained shaman,
I'm an animal of spirit
a tasmanian devil
of impulse
compulsively ecstatic
How odd a volcano looks
erupting from its center
how frightening a mammoth
trumpeting its displeasure
and how graceful a swarm
of insects
constant changing directions
how casually joyful a
chimpanzee
picking flees off a companion
my ecstasy
a conduit of all living
matters
yet uniquely individual
for the sound is
all that matters.
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