Running into Melodies, Lyrically

(the unknown and unnamed hears and replies)

 

Or picture it this way: a runner yearning to the tape.

Arms flung back as if flagged by a gale, chin and neck making way for the shoulders – a pure strive.

And rushing against, past and around…force and flow.  Learning the body by all that surrounds, through which it hums and throbs.

The air is full of waves.  The waves are full of particles – particles agitating, dancing.  Or the fragments are waving, threading this way and that – streaming and winding – I feel it.

Over the curves of my shoulders, the chorus.  Deep in my belly – the bass and the drum – caverns of mind.  The ticking, the singing, the whispers and thrums.  Brass flowers into blooming curlicues, echoing labyrinths – my ears.

In such a wind the eyes will close, and the legs will strive and stride.  No matter my position, in the medium of music, I am always moving forward, setting forth – possibly sailing, possibly struggling with every ounce – but making progress.

It glances off the elbows, reverberates the bones.  Fills the mouth, stuffs the nostrils – can make it hard to breathe.  Sound.  Shuddering loins and quaking knees, a tremor-massage, a tumbling.  A sleep.

I lean in.  Becoming a shaping of waves – reaching, aching and out of breath.  Receiving the blast and caress.  The force and the flow.  I listen, I feel.  I am drowning, aware of each inch of my skin.  I am falling in flight, my organs engorged.  I am musically shaped as a man.