Shekinah Glory

Drunk Again
June 5, 2010, 1:17 am
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Thinking that I could peel a tune down to its core
And slip myself inside to ride it up and down
I put a needle onto a record and fastened
Vinyl muffs atop my two ready ears.
Hearing a pulse I tried to imagine it
Through my eardrums and flowing
Into the arteries of my heart’s chambers.
It was the bass or drum that I felt in my shoulders
They vibrated almost imperceptibly
Yet it was almost like a twitch of pain.
Whether trumpet, sax or guitar these were meat
To every gland that causes salivation.
They crunched and bit into my flesh
Like vodka had burned in large gulps down.
Hostage to just one more my butt slept
Underneath me on wooden planks
But my eyes squinted like the Buddha
Thinking that I could focus on the light
As sound clattered against it’s single bulb
Davis squeal, Hill tinkle, Jamal tweet
And I wrote it all illegibly onto paper.
Reading it now is deciphering a dead tongue
It is trying to figure out the notes
From chants in too ancient notations.
Nor can I reconnect with that rhythm stream
It has dried to a dusty wadi
Where everything eventually yellows
And is forgotten in the burning sun.


2 Comments so far
Leave a comment

fascinating and so thought/feeling provoking;
like the fluid way your words and images flow and intermingle and twist around each other

Comment by Janet L. Bohren

Thanks Janet

Comment by pastorofdisaster

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