In song, bound by it, I stood in the back - a bedeviled fool melting into a cast of bedeviled fools. And our voices rocked each cornice of the parlor, now beginning its spin of stupefaction & deliverance. Songs ancient and covered in dirt rose up from the Mesozoic. Hymnals of blood and placenta. Yalping dirges of extinction & survival. "We cool?" the duende seemed to ask.
"Yeah, mami. We real cool."
No comments:
Post a Comment