A record crackles static
When a dj wipes it clean,
And once again when a needle drops, maybe.
Stylus steers its way around a groove
In ever-shrinking spirals, and the air begins to move.
Like sound collapsing into ink,
Majic into vinyl sinks.
Music comes, something swaying.
Room is lilting, poem saying:
1 2 free flow go.
Music is clothes for soul.
Music is freedom of movement,
Toneshift timing.
When you get sent.
Impulse chiming.
Go-go-body,
Talking you you you poetry
In direct exchange energy,
You-words breathing me me me.
Sparks leaping one to another,
Doing me in, sister, brother,
Rhyming our desires
To start a small fire.
