the conductor

i seek rhythms that drive a walk

an unquenchable search for

bones in slow motion

absent of stutter

the unquantized, fluid, and free


and I, so full of myself

that with a few blinks

i capture samples

to render arrogant assessments and claim them truth


today though, I saw pure movement

slow as syrup and quick as flies

from gesturing hands

of conducting so consumed with composition's intent

he embodied its body and phrases...

morphing in time to grooves

that both follow and cut

rushing around curved banks

slowing across wide pebbled paths

till squeezing time into a perfect staccato

over pointy rocks

foam a delicate brew that needs no designation


and without pause or arrhythmia

he directed tendons and minds into a final crescendo

holding performers and audience

suspended in melodic singularity

dissolving all inclinations of knowing

leading spasms to a vacation in the sea

and leaving me in joyous arrest