song of life

last night we sang
        jazz
        blues
        be-bop improv
                cool grooving moves with
                swaying hips and
                snapping fingers

unfortunately
we jumped to the Apollo beat
confined in a Catholic church
        dead center under the
        gaze of a
                skeletal
                crucified Christ.

I opened my door to
glorious song
        averted my eyes from
        manifested tortured death
                gave over my
                whole self to
            music
            that suffused the air with
        infinite patterns
    of
life

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One response to “song of life

  1. The illusions in that church, as in any other, are just that : illusions. One makes of them whatever one chooses to make of them. You chose life. I love your choice. All of life is illusion. Is today’s river also yesterday’s river? Or does merely appear to be the same?

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