At the heart of the city,
place where there is already a beat
already a steady pounding of secret music to dance to,
there are places for us to move
to see our heroes standing up with a bold bird flying off one hand
and a microphone in the other
guitars, violins, accordions, horns, and oh yes,
drums
to pound our ears into a joyous submission.

Last night
the sweat on my body can as thick as the beer that was dumped on me
the only place I can stand *****
and the bodies pushed against me,
slowly twirling,
quickly churning,
a maelstrom of people that a weaker girl would have avoided
but I left my umbrella at the door
and dove in.
When that happens, the only thing that is real is the music
it's what is controlling the waves
some mad conductor at the mouth of a symphony
made of shrieking hyenas
the order that occurs in chaos
the smiles on people's faces
the punches thrown
the glasses lost
and found again
my God
This
is where I belong