Chaos & Glory

Is it more than music—our bite and grit—tooth and gums?

I cringe at the mere mention of forever dangling from a

terrace. Our pallets filled with cranberries and strawberry

gin; and something grey, a love rising quarterly. I see a

symbol, a cryptic claw, engulfed in fears and dreams.

How to hold what’s fallin’: midair, groping for a parachute,

and praying for cushion? Be it the tempo, a flaming violin,

edging us to sex and graves. I hear it, seeping into soul,

and reaching for psychoses. It’s ever alive: pulling, driving,

and preaching a Gospel. This is our life: a mini

nightmare, even a bless-ed event, and touch is tragic. But

ever we love, clanging cymbals, and smashing cellos, if only

to scrape the belly of God. What is this chaos and glory—a

world of vibration, and hectic dialogues?