Everyone has an idea
what music is
to them.
Still, with knobs tuning in
to different concerts within
variegated steel vehicles
that drive toward chagrining
clock radios on Sunday's dresser inside
disavowed hotel rooms with flashing, red
lights and sound
reminding us all
where we are—what for
a time we hold to be real.
But all concepts from shaking heads
forming to join a choir that sings
a hymn to 'here' and flashes,
in the face of fear
a light from stars beginning with one
collision, across time then
claps its hands in unison
with 'now'
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 4:13 PM UTC
Everyone has an idea
what music is
to them.
Still, with knobs tuning in
to different concerts within
variegated steel vehicles
that drive toward chagrining
clock radios on Sunday's dresser inside
disavowed hotel rooms with flashing, red
lights and sound
reminding us all
where we are—what for
a time we hold to be real.
But all concepts from shaking heads
forming to join a choir that sings
a hymn to 'here' and flashes,
in the face of fear
a light from stars beginning with one
collision, across time then
claps its hands in unison
with 'now'
MMXII
You can listen to a version of this poem here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6FHVoVCllw&feature;=plcp
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