Frozen above the sweaty masses a fleshy ocean, he’s the dive bomber.
His out reached hands marked with the black x’s, The D.C. kids clawing at the human Stuka.
He has unhinged himself from the crowd. untethered
from the pale white fingers of the misunderstood youth that would pull him back in.
The hungry human piranhas trying to ****** a piece of his flesh.

Now, where only music can reach him.
The off tempo cymbal crash and the four power chords furiously strummed
on a broken five string guitar,
the mad crowd shouts in tongues. Spit and sweat sprinkle his face like an ocean mist.
A vivid reminder of the human meat grind below.

His arms outstretched like a bird of prey ready for the ****,
the wings of Icarus over the blacked out
eyes of the faces below.

However in this instance he is at the apex,
he is captured in a quick second snapshot,
Suspend in the void behind him like a black flag
Waving and violently vibrating with the music behind it.

He is the stage diver,
Voyager before the malfunction,
Icarus before the sun.