The Concert

 

There was a lot

of fuss and adrenalin already

in just getting the ticket: 

a passport of paper

and prismic print

that would bring that

which only happened within;

 without. 

 

(There is such a fine

line

that needs to be stepped: 

to allow a fantasy, a passion,

to come into the light.)

 

The drive on the way

there: blasting

with sound and gum

and rocket fuel. 

We take our place

obediently, follow

the signs

diligently, smile

at the fellow anticipators

beatifically. 

We all

wait.

 

No light

dims sound…

low light

kills noise…

Spot light and

noise erupts.

  Me

in my space,

a bubble in a

shaken bottle, I

erupt

as the event

erupts over

me.

I am

tumbling in sound

and light and

the gyrating energy

of the demi-god

in denim. 

Notes and

rhythms reprogram

my DNA

as I am transported,

transformed.  Time

is folded into an

ever diminishing

space. 

I am all

I know.

 

 

The light returns.  The

smell of beer

reaches my nose

from the edge of my jeans. 

My ears ring. 

Cell by cell,

nerve by nerve,

I am returned to

my body. 

In silence, I avoid

the autopsy

as my fingertips

still glow

with the last

fading note.