cymbals/symbols

the drum drags and snaps into place,
one beat, twothreefour. slow like heat, like
trust. slap, slap, slap, whiskers on tin can snares,
chains rolling on the ground, smiling metallic moons
to sweet girls with poppyseed ponytails. the cymbals crash,
stop sign oblivious, and the hip-shaking tambourine rattles snake
charmer smooth up and over, into the song’s melody. hollow bass man,
we can dig a groovy funk, a chunky tune, but do you sing with solid lips now?