wake in a sweat,
not quite sickly.
Feeling the weight in the air
of music floating…
Head spinning
the night before will linger in the air.
The walls did tilt,
bouncing slant to the center.
Not quite breaking,
They hop and shake hands
ecstatic discharge.
Running into walls,
tomorrow comes today.
And you walk out…
the door is open, its tough to open.
Flooding your senses,
the sound of the music.
Radiating from the trees,
screams from the neighbors.
Close your eyes and say…
I am alive, I am listening.
All ears open, all stops ajar.
Take me solar, take the idling.
He keeps quiet, squints only see.
One of these mornings,
will be the loudest you hear.
But this morning
is soft.
–Kevin Bost
