Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Dancing to local music (1.15.13)

Ecstasy,  caught in that perfect
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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