audio its easier to push piano keys than to unlock a riveting melody i want my grooves to raise the reader's brow like a proud parent i'd like each twist and turn to ignite the audience like an old car key;
my wrists have paid the piper the price of overpractice pressing the pedal to the metal as a official seal of pained ownership;
yet i don't know how to play my DNA to my own satisfaction and i still don't know which skeleton keys will fit my signature.
There's a heaven in my hand
There's a heaven in the palm of my hand
I heard once that Heaven is rapture.
Wrapping up of
Slightly steamed
And lightly grilled
Bread, the bread of life
Filled with frolicking fried rice And refried black beans and chicken breast bits
Dipping head to toe in raw avocado.
Shouting "salsa, salsa! Hot baby hot,"
Followed by a single snap of the fingers
Powered by a beat that won't stop?
A conga rhythm of communion,
soaking through the dough,
A thorough spread of agape guacamole,
Let-us-abide lettuce, spirited salt
Pentecostal pepper, mercy malt?
Cool enough to settle on human heads
Hot enough to make you mutter languages you love but fail to understand
Yes! I swear of nothing, but
There was a heaven in my hand!
Emotional shock is no joke, though you may chuckle in the earthquake you choke when unguarded and alone. When pain sucker punches your ribcage as hard as a battering ram, you ask why and how did any of this pointless, relentless horror happen?
Trouble answers by twisting your nerves like an owl's head, 180 degrees away from all your plans, turning you into a risky punchline on slanted legs.