Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Monday, November 21, 2016

Sonnet #143

Turn the song in the club way up way up
Until the chests vibrate with the noise
And every dancer moves without a choice
Dance or die, move or burst, throw back cups
And throw off pretentious intentions just dance
Until the beads of sweat merge into a stream
And conscious thoughts dilute into a dream
We live in this moment, throw off all postures and stances
Be animals, be vegetables, be Zen Buddhist statues
Be mineral reactions, be factions of sound
Made flesh into an army of a mass truth
About the space between the sky and ground
Conquer the self, conquer the song, conquer the you
And when the song ends, be lost and bound

Post a Comment