Strange Loves
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The Band
Austin Powers
I left 'nam, but 'nam never left me. "and I am dumb to tell the crooked rose my youth is bent by the same wintry fever." I never heard the "at ease men" commanded of my leader. I hear the guns. I see the blood. The drums try to drown the noise, and the screams, they never quiet. They never cease.Children play with sticks. The old ones drive cars and talk on the phone. Teenagers turn their music ever so loud to wash the death march in their own minds. And the poet cries tears of lost love beating beating beating like the heart of a frightened deer running for its life from the pack of wolves intent on demise. I saw the children grow up and take aim at the new innocence they shed like dried skin.
The path of the Platform Soul, the way of Reverend Worley calms the wound like the early morning mist on the beach of Danang, offering the sand and smoke to the god of nowhere and nothing. The beat of disco Zen, and the past, like the memory I repel, finds the way to stick and skin, the pedal that thumps remembrance of those pulses that go on and on.
And so I am here to resound the hammer only because freedom grips fate like the clutch of the bird on the last branch that holds the wind to earth. And I only echo the boom that fills the empty halls left by lost time and comrades in arms. Just a player in a retro Zen disco band. Just a drummer in the sound of time.