The rattle echoes.
With each step I take
I drown in the thump thump
of the machine.
My heart will stop
if the percussion should suddenly shift.
The intense twinkle of blue, red and
other colors bounce from wall to wall.
They are almost in sync with the noise,
combining into a blinding heart attack.
The masses bob up and down, to and fro,
to the banal beat.
The reverberating mix of light and sound
pierce the walls I’ve built. The
swamp grabs me, pulls me, confuses
me. I struggle, finding myself drained.
Cloudy. Dazzled. I can’t
tell one way from another.
My weak legs go back to…instinct..?
Carrying my smoky mind through the crowd,
the awful mix of spray-on chemicals
slowly lets go of my tongue. I sense…something
cold, fresh? No, no, refreshing.
My mouth, it…moistens.
The chill. My flesh. The words!
I soak in the brisk draft.
It washes, better yet, cleanses me!
I have emerged unscathed, out of
the quagmire. Back and
forth, the rattle, merely a hum now, beckons.
I collect and store the freshness into
a cache, then venture back inside. The
low buzz of music, the gentle
flash of lights and the overpopulated floor?
Tolerable. I see some females and wander to them.
“I’m going to dance here, feel free to think I’m dancing with you.”