he set the drums on fire
which is what started it all.

the catalyst
for a sound that shook the earth,
so much so
that the the redwoods broke the silence
in a forest full of minds lost
lost among the falling leaves
that catch fire.
drifting toward the coast
to meet the footprints
soon to be washed away
by the force of reflection.
and the fires rage up toward the clouds
which shade the surface from the sun.
day is night and night is day
in a world that fears
live music.
and i dream about the drums so much
that i hide out in the dark room
full of pictures
that reveal moments
sensitive to the real world.

the red lights nearly blinded me
once-
as chemicals filled the atmosphere
and i escaped just in time to
watch it burn
peripherally.
i walked away and never looked back.
to return was to risk my sanity.

and i let the cds burn.
i locked the letters in a shoebox
and buried the box beneath the surface
of my time here. i used to read them too often
never to be read again, only recognized
by my own subconscious.
at a time where music reminds me, still, of an instant.

see, i am dependent on sound and color
of the drums
that distract me from surrounding,
so that i don't surrender
to the fires
that consume
so many souls in which see only red.
to be in this world full of vibrancy and passion,
expressed through the essence of art.
it is a shame to feel it burn.

i saw the drummer live years ago
and i learned how to play myself.

i'll tour on Mars instead.
i read about it yesterday,
and it appears to be red from a distance.