song of life

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

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

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

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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