13.1k views, 2xBest Poetry Period. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind. |
When You Woke What’s the point of listening to the whole album? But we’ve done it -- body gravity-laid, stereo on dresser, juddered 50-lb speakers undulating, or ears sponge-cupped to coiled cord strung tight across a cabled room. Three tiny bones accept waves entering a narrow passageway, swim a vibrating canal to drum, undeniable musical messages. From one side, flipped and then the other. Repeated. Why take time to consider every lyric, every melting melody on our backs, in recompose? Empty minds immersed an hour of scarred vinyl, diamond pointer plying wave-grooves gliding a lumpy platter perfect-playing anthems. Delicious sounds paired with new ideas, arriving thoughts. We compose, carry forward processed lives pre-recorded, in old denim profess — called boomers. Sounding clear as minted silver in lead, quarter clangs, circles a cylindrical container, bounced by youth with no skill for a beer-bath receptacle? Take a drink runt. Your memes and 15-second mind candy will rot your head, kid. You’re the record they mint now. You’ve been flipped. I’ll be on the dark side of the moon when you woke. 37 lines of free verse 10.28.22 10.29.22 edit, public 11.8.22 edit for proper context and metaphor(s) on message ▼ |