The Start of Something

I'm late, I know. I've become terrible at this the last few weeks. As I've said, though, a little feedback might encourage me to update regularly. :-P

Title from Voxtrot (MySpace)

I felt like a rodeo clown in the moments before the cowboy is thrown
from the tight, muscular back of the thrashing, screaming bull,
with a funnel in my stomach rushing every fluid in my body to my bladder
and tightening my throat under a big red bow tie
when I realized that my hands had a will all their own.

And that will craved the soft bumps of the thick veins that steady your hands
or make them shake
or grip my own roaming fingers
as every instinct in the parts of my body I still control demand, in shrill shrieks,
that I ignore my hands,
like if I acknowledge them with posture, expression, or
--God forbid--
word, they'll go numb and I'll lose that comforting pulse,
the beat to which I showed you in a cramped, humid bedroom that I couldn't play guitar.

So I tighten my lips
and wait for my rider to be thrown
so I can swoop in and distract you from the fact that it ever happened
with silly faces and awkward jokes and that funnel in my belly.