Phoenix Beneath the Stage

My thoughts on my first TMBG concert. In a shell of nut.

 

The keyboard stands

on a     high-rise

but the twanging   voice

 

of   a   poetic giant

 

comes from behind me,

Miles Away.

 

I reach out for that voice,

to draw it closer,

 

but his vernacular

strikes a chord,

 

A Signal.

 

To my right

the shout of cannon fire

blowing its cascading    top.

 

The jarring report

all around me,

arriving from

 

every

imagined

direction,

 

   but

paranoia has

 never

been so  rewarding.

 

Streams of colored

blips of paper

fall upon my face,

 

and I can hear

the Message

   trying to get to me

  across this swelling wave

of

   thoughtless faces.

 

The confetti caresses my face

like little flitting wings against

a newly paved sidewalk.

 

   A dying free bird,

       rebirthing itself.

 

 

 

Author's Note

HEE.