At the
tip of my hearing
far away crashes
and thudding rhyme,
high-whine scrawl
of a guitar solo driven
way, way over:
a heavy metal show at the nightclub down the street.
Hand-horns and denim required for entry.
I feel like I’m not old enough, or too old,
or built indie-elitist-too cool for school-wrong to go.
I feel like if I don’t go
I will have surrendered,
stepped off the part of the path of wisdom
that leads through excess. Tonight
I want to be one with that certain defiance
that comes through walls
like a stone drill mounted on a Harley,
all the way through selfish walls
to rest near the beating flesh heart
of a whole bigger
than its drum, bass, guitar, and vocal
parts.
Dark Matter 