power surge

power surge

the mic is wet with my grip
not from the white hot spots
nor the butterfly looking for a landing place
in my hollowed gut

but growing tension of what is about
to be released

they do not know that the house mains,
monitors, amps, aural exciter, and bass bends
are unnecessary for this delivery

my eyes stay shut, the gates holding back the power
that has been welling so deep within
not just before my birth but the spark
wrought at creation

When my mouth opens i could pin them to
the back wall of the building
i imagine them leaning into the hurricane
force of my breath - groping for their seats

Forget about diaphragm, throat, and technique.
This is my inner life
o that i may have the strength to control the release
of a mere three and a half minutes of supernatural light

before i slam shut the door from where it boils
and spin the vault lock while the bolts clink
I have dipped the tips of these notes
in the fire of the Spirit

Aiming to pierce or just scratch
the metal, ice, and wood of these unsuspecting hearts
Poisoning them with an infection
which they will never be cured

golden mist swirls around distant lightening
gathering strength as the verse leads to chorus
the eye of the storm through the bridge
is pierced by waves of choruses

the music fades, my feet are back stage
the fog of unselfconsciousness lifts
as the sun of my ego begins to dawn
and i crumple in disbelief that i survived

this power surge