It Doesn't Have to Make Any Sense....

these words are water
on skyscrapers
that I've tried to touch
so many years before

a quickening of pulse
sends the signals 
through the ether

that sensual rush
of air & warm sound
 swimming through
alternative currents
all the way up to
the moon itself

fingers dancing
on fretboards
i hear klaxons
coming out the gate
drowned in sound

it all overwhelms me
in a electric bath
 carrying me unto
elsewhere

these very drumbeats 
are digital thunderclap
and harmony
as we become
our own headphones

Is it a curse? Or are we all who feel this way blessed in some strange obscure way?

i miss driving cars and seeing shows.

feeling of wind in my hair
high-fiving friends
in the first few rows.

that excitement in the air
and the sense of union.

all singing.

out of frustration.

out of passion.

out of not enough.

so we are all singing.

i can see it in their eyes.

the love of things greater than themselves...


i miss that post-modern love.


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