Library Daydream

A candid view into the fantasy life of a superannuated English major. 

Library Daydream

What if I had had a rock ‘n’ roll band
with a wild drummer boning apocalypsos,
sun to a solar system of tubs, tubes, triangles,
gongs, gourds and gizmos gunning out
a Ragnarok roll, each rat-a-tat tattoo thrilling
a different nerve up and down the spine–
had smoke and lasers, epileptic strobe lights,
molten hot-spots and morphing backdrops,
and each fat thwap on the fretless bass made
the giant woofers leap like shock paddles
to the heart. Then the tight-jawed guitarist
cruising for the far horizon, all jib sails free
on a solo of twisted euphony, and fountaining
up from the singer’s belly, the liquid scat,
talking in tongues, off her thrown-back head
while she boogies as if God has his hand
in her pants. Finally, the whole front line
taking it out to the stage-edge, leaning over
the reaching hands, building the sound
like breakers higher and higher, rising tide,
up to a last tsunami of drumming,
a great unison shout, then out the lights.

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