Thunder rolling in, dark room,
Patti Smith Horses on the record player,
dark in here, listening for a heart song,
listening, listening, listening
quiet, quiet, quiet storm,
the rain soft now,
lightning, electricity, looking like the sky,
this heart song rhythm
boom bah boom, African drum, African blues,
don’t stop now!
Whatever it says, don’t get up!
Let the storm do its thing,
talk, talk, talk
all this talk making it difficult to hear
the secrets of the
the stagnation of the
the wisdom of the
foot through the door into something new,
newness is old, too, so what?
Scared dog panting, drooling,
thunder is gunshot, streets flooding the prophecy
have little to offer us now.
Look out for your friend.
Maybe a new friend on the way.
The good friend, the spiritual friend.
The divine wine.
Little fires burning on the doorstep
welcoming or saying ‘so long.’
Where’s the release?
Where is the release holding?
the mirage, the illusion of rain,
the illusion of holding
the form when there’s formlessness,
the gates down and the people on both sides
we’re getting still now,
still so the storms can rage with little consequence
no consequence when there is no expectation of
rock n roll
getting the grips to loosen now,
free on the stage at the hotel vegas
plug in the telecaster,
let it go let it ride
where’s the energy headed?
where’s the water flowing?
the scene in the center of attention,
this movement towards expression
the need for concrete imagery:
flowers unfolding in dark closets
look at it, look at its flight
Horses, that spiritual tome
unlocking a mind with rock n roll
that’s it, that’s the burn,
that’s the flow
the wild, wild, wild heart of the female in heat
this is good, this is right
the storm is here, it is raining