That moment of hands held on laps
like pillars of ancient Greece.
A moment of glory lingers and echoes
in many forms
like a rock skipped across
the surface of time
and sometimes you find yourself looking
right into the heart of a concentric circle.
And the subway pushes on, to
roof tops bellow
squares of light
thumbnails of life,
scrolling through to the beach,
parking lot of baseball stadium where Daft Punk
plays inside for more than I have in my wallet.
The concrete suits me though.
Room to dance and move around
I hope, as the train is in motion, and I project
the future at the same pace the D travels along its
Dancing combustion of friends
4 magical tickets apparently earned by our
into the moment
of transforming felt beats into moved space/time.
Handicap parking spot outside stadium wall,
lightshow seeping onto distant high rise facades,
turning brown brick into rotating psychedelic purple.
Once inside, thousand's hands in the air,
a triangle of light,
Exploding smiles ricocheting,
Pulling energy buckets up
and slowly spreading the contents into the sky.
We caught the wave, and
after the show the curl continued to carry us,
young love washed up on the sand, just like a finger snap.
Just like tickets.
The night unfolds.
May my life be a garden like this.
Wild, yet watched over and tended to
by loving "hands."
A central park lunch hour.
Cries of pain,
seeking of connection with community, yet
self alienation via
expanding into time/space from cell phone download,
distortedly blasting for all on D train to hear
from backwards baseball cap covered nodding head youngster
with healthy urban ego.