On the Purpose of Music
The harried beasts are here. Do not be afraid. Remember your youth. Those days you felt your own skin try to swallow you. You found solace in sound, in the sonnets made shanties for the rounding of the cherry cheeks of children. They too— the insatiable emotions— they accept no explanation but dance until they forget their names.
“Those days
you felt your own skin
try to swallow
you.”
Brilliant, Mike!
Brings me back to summer days of singing Ring-around-the-Rosie, running faster and faster in our hand holding circle. I also like movement of the text on the page. Your words are dancing.