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elegy of drums
“A rolling stone gathers no moss.”
charlie beat the hell out of skin
spilling not a drop of precious blood
membrane to his feet tamed the din
of his passions raging like a flood
paradiddle dreams crowned his head
bossa nova clavé poly rhyme
syncopation sycophant-bred
of the gallantry of space and time
charlie rode his hi hat to hell
landing on his polyrhythm couch
mozambique and french grip and bell
proved the soul in him was no man’s grouch
till the day he climbed from his stool
when his morning sun refused to rise
elegy of drums, soft and cool,
phantoms of his music, fill the skies
© Copyright 2021 September 07
by Clyve A. Bowen♫
charlie beat the hell out of skin
spilling not a drop of precious blood
membrane to his feet tamed the din
of his passions raging like a flood
paradiddle dreams crowned his head
bossa nova clavé poly rhyme
syncopation sycophant-bred
of the gallantry of space and time
charlie rode his hi hat to hell
landing on his polyrhythm couch
mozambique and french grip and bell
proved the soul in him was no man’s grouch
till the day he climbed from his stool
when his morning sun refused to rise
elegy of drums, soft and cool,
phantoms of his music, fill the skies
© Copyright 2021 September 07
by Clyve A. Bowen♫
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