Preserve

I cannot quite find a satisfactory title. The current title is a WiP, as is the entire piece.

I

The marijuana smoke trembled in the air

as if it too could sense the frenzy of the music.

The rhythm of the band

holds captive its audience,

as to escape without its conclusion

would be unthinkable.

It paralyzes us in motion,

and we love to surrender to it.

II

I remember

at one point in the night, the band’s instruments broke.

The guitar tendons tore,

the drums ripped and stopped beating,

and the saxophone necks snapped.

The confusion spread like the common cold

from host to host to guest,

but the rhythm was kept going

in people’s feet and in our heads.

In our conversations and in our very breathing.

It was self-preservation of the party.

Not one smile even faded.

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