Making Tracks

I set the needle down
Somewhere in the track, that’s lost then found
And fills my ears with life music
You’d think it might be slow
But no no no
That minor key’s about ready to leap free
Arms feel vernal heat, veins tapping to the beat
Music of life pulses those alleys
The dead come to life
The dismal wasteland of dead weights, this scene
Now, pulses like The City Streets, filled with lights
It’s all here, those ghosts
Coming to life in my head, more real than death, laughing…
And their strange times, 8:9, 7:8, relics of that unadulterated greatness ,
A crescent dances along a skyline, smooching a building, while it eyes, lasciviously, a constellation of stars..
(It’s not music, but beyond, music between music, those spaces …feeling, responding. Indelible. It’s the sound the glasses and chairs and room and the stairs. The lights, the floor, the door, the energy between the hands,
not the people- between them, they’re the motion, they’re the beat, the time, the rhythm and the sync. )

You don’t have this track, but you should,
A sax erupts, free from the base, and percussion
Siren like, up into the sky
Free.