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Unphased, the Brass Plays
The ground has a sound
—if gravity demands it—
and I'd wager
that the wait is over—the weight is through
Its time for the bottom
and for the band to play too
The sound wasn't loud but I still
turn into this reality
from another I visit
to read that news
to trace the spaces I can appreciate,
I return often
to realities of absolutes
so I can mix concrete decision
with our undesirable truth,
stuck in the comfort
of uncomfortable views
Showing up for the audience
—at least an hour late—
I shake off my hands
—but not the anxiety—
As my vision retracts
the sweat puddle expands,
Throwing up on the half notes
Scattering the music
right in front of the band
right before the brass shakes
As I begin to play wildly, not as myself
but as this possessed version
Eyes widen through serotonin
and knees buckle
while my vision distorts
as consciousness now becomes suggestion
The stillness is still remembered by some
To feel this was way once
was like a promise—broken
at last
my symptoms darken
and the work becomes clear
no more dead hearted lovers
no more labored gasps
Only me and my ideas
playing right before the brass
