When you find another anthem,
you take it back over all the
bus routes, hallways and parks
that salt & that pepper your years,
each having previously held
warm verses and grooves of their own.
You walk back.
steps to the church
and the steeple.
The prayer of her knee highs
and the black
The people on the bus and
the ones that make up the crowd.
You’ve seen most of it before,
but never to Miles or Betty Davis.
Never to Muddy, King, or Wolf.
People as convoluted as they become, are
all at once redeemable, by a perfect soundtrack.
A Kaleidoscope, wringing out the stories
in their eyes and perks; shearing off
lines of nuance. Carving another edge.
The frenetic bird-mimicry
& melting of stuffy snow glazed people.
The dance of the chilled and iced.
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