[what I should’ve handed out today]

Exploding The Muse

The Olatunji Concert in medias res

I.

Maybe a hundred faces–

No longer smiling–

lose themselves,

Or are lost

in a thunderous cavalcade

of sundry emissions.

I am a cascading inferno,

the center of uncertainty,

collapsing in breath.

II.

Now-textured, new, buoyant,

creation’s froth and foam,

outlandish and exuberant.

There is no “back” line.

I am the wash,

boundless and formless,

seminal and righteous.

III.

Exhilarating exacerbation–

every note,

every exclamation–

Gutted and vulgar,

no recognition,

not enough time to–

Swung-out on

ecstatic communion

with galaxies and

the congregation–

Harlem’s gymnasium

blissed out on fractured

cacophonic exultation

and praise

and innards.

IV.

He cut me in half.

Squawks and moans:

quills and quivers.

She busted my brains.

Too many keys,

or none at all.

They’ve lost it.

They have something

else entirely.

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