Occupy Art (make Peace The issue)
In the free world
Live like undead slaves?
Do we only move as directed, never dance freely in a whirling wind;
never touch finger to foreign finger for a thrill of acceptance?
Never sing music assimilated within from all the painful days
swirled into revel excitement? Do we not breathe and inhale airs
unexpected, strange and calling to communal desire?
Such solemn sensuality. Vibrant air lingering warm and sweet.
Images that stay. Music that accompanies a day’s montage of duties.
Theater as intimate ritual.
Enchanting sylph narrates to sinuous back beat, tingle of chimes.
Occasionally emphasizes subtle percussions with intense expressions,
leaps, cunning stumbles, daring fall into spellbound sound, archetypal passion escapades,
poignant weeps, salient shouts to power.
Feel each instant’s music move in tune.
Reach into balance within limits of room, laws of motion, draw of ecstasy.
Each mood enhances expressive release, stretch for a piece reflective and deep.
Ordered vibrations cosset, hold like a heart-bound twin.
Sad biographies, personalities grandiose or subdued, but delusions.
Substitute equivalent qualities sold as sums that define identity.
Told how to hear or say. Mere chatter,
in the way ideations whether profound or silly are spread.
Sound from will, music imbues momentum,
interweaves with what keeps us who we become, overcome.