origination

I originate with the drum 

Call me humanity 

For arguments sake 

 When all's said and done 

Let's consider me worth more than a salary 

And that's all very well 

As an abstract concept  

I can debate economics casually 

 As a peer
Real recognise Real 

I acknowledge common ground bashfully 

And shuffle my feet asking 

Can't we just get along without you asking me 

What I'm worth
What my weight in gold is
What my value is? 

I'll remain adamant
You can't put a tag on this 

Translate me to currency

 Reduce me to property

 Trap me in poverty

 I originate with the drum 

The beat
I am rich beyond measure

 Food for thought

 Fuel for peace 

I am tears on sacred ground 

I am sacrifice for belief 

The rain above your head 

The roots beneath your feet 

I originate with the drum 

And I end there

 Resurrected between beats 

intimacy between eaves 

intricacy of wheat-sheaves

 magic in the tea leaves 

The joy when we arrive 

 Sadness when we leave 

 Legacies upon legacies upon
Painful legacies 

And the hope they carry 

The first hint of a melody 

I originate with the drum 

And live in the breath on the off beat 

Art is not technique 

And I am not a unit 

I am failure 

I am imperfection 

Uniformity bores me to fuck 

I originate with the drum
And I echo 

I might buckle but I'm never crushed 

And I re-emerge 

 A vein formed around the pulse 

lifeblood 

Transparent skin stretched tight 

Compressed as the waves rush 

Flowing through to the edge and back 

Originating
With the drum 

Never deviating 

No mediation necessary 

Legendary 

Yet contemporary 

Timeless 

Frames

How many frames must we squeeze into before we find that one that fits and starts, heads nodding in the half light to another performance? Stationary, removed, we sedate and quell the fires of rebellion in our heads in our hearts, and celebrate the presentation replica of the very same. 

Shielded by screens,false serenity,slick sheen  

Exorcise our demons; it's all a part of the process.

Cycling back through images of debauched recent past
Commercial street bar bathroom stall finds text message provocation; this woman replied unexpectedly with the awaited initiation, only to remove it and leave little romeo hanging again, to read and write in an open plan office filled with Thursday night blue moon emptiness.

An open bottle in an orange plastic bag defiantly enjoyed in the dry beige train carriage speaks the same whatever the language of the salute; a tarot book confusion headache, the blunt echo of yesterday's drinking, such a sophisticate  such a glutton: 

Loose laces;

loose buttons; 

loose grasp; 

lose morals; 

Morals of stories that used to have some, allegories that lost their way because their figures of speech just didn't add up, the sheet could not balance and thus the music lost it's home. 

Memories lost in trade because of structural flaws in the construct; the tower could not balance and thus the moments all jumped.

Desolate, 3 drinks later, your friends gone
move from green lit saturday night bar to 
same platform where 
premonition of reciprocity was felt and wait, balled brown paper bag brushed aside onto tiled floor. A rejection.