First Home Kit

I wanna live in the space	               suspended

between two cymbals 

crashing

in this evangelic summer 


of vaulted gold 	ceilings 

stone walls ringing


we’ll furnish the floor 

with the springs of a snare 


mattresses bare

the light is dim

the windows are circles


we sit amongst empty boxes

bass drums, and black bags containing 

copper dinner plates and hi hat pieces 


you paint me with gentle          	metal

brushes and wooden sticks


this is the roaring twenties


we are chasing beats, syncopations 

rim shots, groove,            	walking 	          	basses


on these walls nothing will be hung 

only sung, swung