Cascabel

Basements and living rooms
never contained as much
friction as they did
in those instances
when tolexed amplifiers,
abused microphones, and
shrill metallic disks
littered the cramped space
in unison
with eager, sweating bodies.

Those enigmatic gatherings
of unrestrained fury and
hissing feedback
dictated success or failure;
alleviated ails in twenty-five minutes
or less, for ten dollars
or less.

Three-hundred and fifty miles
or more of barreling through
barren desert, side winding mountain,
or smudged urban sprawls
just to be in a position
like this.

Anticipation pulses.
Vacuum tubes swelter, expanding with
with room.
Five dwell on the threshold.
Four clicks of sticks
and we combust.

 

—N.A.

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