Harvesting her music
I am renewed
connecting to the
passionate undertakings
wrapped up
in sinews and skin
chased by the
bada bee bada bum
beating dance of the drum
meaningless to the uninitiated
the voice doesn't need to sing
merely a whispered "go"
ending a paralysis of conservative
hypersuburban venom
I can run
run until it fades behind me
and my own song can
rise up
and dance on the wind
balanced on the hot breath of
a new melody created with
intertwining strings of curled hair
glinting in the sunlight
frizzing as
a hot neck sways
and pops
and locks into place
a dream
of total release.
