track 4

...and the sound filled the room

An intoxicating fog that pulled straight down

On my rusty heartstrings

Vibrations overflowing, attracting, resisting

Until chakra aura colors lit the space

Between the speakers 

And me

...it was distilled joy, revelation

Hands raised to the sky kind

...and he rode atop those sonic waves like

Jesus, walking on the water, hand held out

Inviting

He sang and his voice was light

And it glowed, illminating the space

Revealing the swirling vapors

He sang and he must have known me

Sweet God, he must have known me

Better than anyone I'd ever known

In seven words he wrote the book

With a wordless wail he read it to the world

He'd conjured hypnotic melodies

Chants and prayers

Soon enough my jaws would be sore

Knees dirty

Voice hoarse but I would sing along forever

To become one with the unfathomable 

Spirit

The Ghost who bestows

The Gift

...relating to the words

Falling in love with the singer and the song

Allowed, for 5 minutes, 

To worship gods made by the hands of men

I stayed up all night

Reliving those moments

Bookended by ignored reality

Cherishing the song

Until everything about it 

Became a part of me

Special, important, essential as anything else

...and I was hanging with some friends of mine

Wordlessly enjoying the silence

A blessing for us to share

But one does get bored

I spotted a pile of old magazines

Not so much stacked but thrown in a corner

Most of them were sports related

Cuz those naggas of mine were obsessed with the game

Towards the bottom I spyed with my leering eye

A couple of soft core quarterlys with juvenile titles

Buried somewhere between the two I found a music rag

Pulled it from the trash heap

Bob Dylan on the cover

Sign of the times

I settled in for an amusing if not educational read

Flipping through the snot slick pages I came to the

"Letters to the Editor" section

Halfway down the page, in the center column

Proudly displayed in loud "all caps" someone had written

"COLDPLAY SUCKS!"

The abruptness of his less-than-charitable opinion was

Jarring

So I conjured up a mental image of the guy who had written it

And directed my own, even less charitable exhortation

Delivered mentally with a force that would frighten demons

"FUCK YOU!"

I went home and played track 4

In infinite repeat mode

I loved it even more for the fact

That some asshole hated it so much