Sense

A queer thing happens, rarely.
When the spirit divorces the body.
All that is solid, melts into air,
afloat in the ether it dances the square,
in absolute ecstasy.
That hollowed-out shell is spell-bound, content.
Breathing suspended,
muscles frozen in waiting.
As the essence spirits away meaning.
Splitting reason.

Beats and notes and words strung together
Marshall feelings to muster
thoughts to comfort
What cannot be had in liquor
Must be had by other means
And if hacking away, smashing
At keys, release
And if hacking away, smashing
At keys will force the spirit
Back in harmony with the body
Then let the motion of these fingers
Beg release
Then let the motion of these fingers
Beg surcease.
A queer thing happens, rarely.