Again glass

drums, mumbles in circles that
I will eventually decode– bum buh dum–
Bumbubum laughing till cops are called and I
Can’t breath– redlightgreen, again
down Fillmore to Sutter, then to the square
What’s going on there? Just
playing to play, throwing self into
rooms with other beat
lovers, some recite and hum and
I try to listen, no codification and
even less pour of order– were free,
we’re free! One of them propels to the drummer
Right– snare bongo steel– realer dealer
No electricity, just hand,
Surface, music and recital and connectedness–