Apparently
you instinctively know
the right decision
ten minutes before
you make it.
What were you doing
ten minutes ago?
what was on your mind?
Was it inevitable
like a twisting bird
waiting to land?
You were
wondering weren’t you
and now,
you read poetry.
The answer,
is still
no.
You
want
to fight
and I will not bite
and you argue all tonight -
know now I just will not bite
life is more than fight
flight from torpid shite
and understand
I will not bite
and therefore,
will not
write.
This is where the rhythm is
this soft pushed bounce before the strokes
this snapping beat and accent too
inviting ghosts of crack and groove
and how my vantage swoops to dash.
This is air this rhythm fizz
this friction heat this hot-coal stoke
this movement out and pocket in
enticing hosts with smack and move
and low my hinted pulse is hatched.
This is prayer soft this rhythm is
this once hushed ounce now pounded smoke
this balanced reap, these payments due
these marks excising rough with smooth
and now, a vintage Zildjian splash.