perform your art
with dry ice
instead
if you use
the smoke machine
maybe the rains
will stop in Portland
skies will clear
and the ozone-layer gods
will crown you as
their reigning prince
getting to say
“i have a drummer”
is what you get to do
when the band plays on
behind your
near-obsession
while richmond
and his demons
dance, alien-like
awkward two-steps
trying to follow
any rhythm
biofeedback
of musician beat
drums setting
the tone
like heartbeat
pounding
around the edges
of your emptied
gut
pulsing your words
and his,
mike daily
