Wednesday, January 16, 2013

American Idol

Music.  It fills you and
spills into the crevices
of who you are.  A note
a rhythm.  Fingers
drumming the desk.
The held expectation
of sun dragging down
night.  A cab ride on
Antigua.  We discussed
the differences in
dialects with the driver.
It’s all English.
He machine-gunned
phrases and asked me
what they meant.  In
a foreign tongue.  DNA
English.  Meaning
dichotomy.  Yet all
music.  All sound.

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