364/365

feels so right in the moment
clutching the mic stand like an anchor:
a jump, a headbang, a thrust
total freedom like in your room
at eight, ten, twelve, eighteen, twenty four
and so on and so on. a bottle of wine
at your feet and enough songs in your throat
to warrant applause. the little voice, gone
from your head, under the lights: the one
asking the obvious questions: am i good enough?
will they like me? is this cool or pathetic: us
up here, missing fifty, playing rock stars.

there are moments- eyes closed, spinning,
riding the bassline, drum beat pounding, searing
quitar solo, when you let go and quiet the voice,
there is no play acting, there is no doubt. only
a fierce freedom too hot not to trust. there is no
choice but to let yourself burn and sing. a voice
committed to rock and roll in a small room to a small
crowd will always be a beautiful thing.