With The Marleys, We Danced

So much trouble in the world, why do we bother?  Brother killing brother.  I know they don’t rhyme, but shouldn’t they?  Oh brother, why bother?  Shit is pooping off at breakneck speed.  Oops, I meant popping, my English teacher’d be peed.  Improper spelling, the stone has been cast; hurry up and bust facts—50 please.  Or Ms Dengel gon’ blast.  The scope of the situation dug deep and got grave, people dying to know.  This life ain’t for keep, save your seat ladies gents watch the show.

Fuck it, makes no sense at this point. Sweating from the heat, like jamaican sun, lost in the clouds.  A long breath, thick-rich fog.  Sliding sticky to the sides, rubbing elbows with dogs.  Paw the switch, dim the lights but let in the truth.  Swaying with strangers I don’t need no proof.  We all gonna die get lost in a moment.  Um, feel the rhythm rising, up as you open.  Let the tune be your sherpa carry-on to the top.  Cause when the shit goes down you can feel your heartbeat.  Drop.  Look out for the real thing, pay no mind to the ad.  Rock like it’s your job to roll.  With the punches who knew, hula like Hawaiian.  Pick your ocean be an island.  Too many children out there crying.  But baby if you follow show the way to all the others.  Because shit is going up in flames, light a fire in your brother.  Why bother?  Oh yeah, it doesn’t rhyme.

They don’t all rhyme, ya know?  And they don’t all make sense.  The room spinned to a stop.  I stood alone on my carpet, flip flops fell, flung from my feet.  I raised drenched eyelids to find darkness, but for the light on a speaker.  …you be loved…you be loved…you be loved…  A reggae record skipped, though my restless legs defied.  The letters on my chest, obscured by bleeding sweat, rose and fell upon a heavy breath.  Flagler College, where I learned how to get high, taught me how to avoid getting low.  We got small in the darkness; big minds let me know.  Doctor Proctor would be proud, of me, in this moment, staring at the beat, glad I stopped smoking but never let go of Bob.  I lifted the needle, set it back down and, again, I danced.  The Marleys, they get it.  That’s why they make such fucking music…

Shutting my eyes, my hips take me away.  I am a tree in the Caribbean breeze.  A frond in a hurricane, my thoughts get carried away to another place.  Mental island-hopping.  Taking vacation, fuck where I stand, even as the shag tries to clutch my toes.  It is sand.  Ganja and coconut wafting, upon a trade I soar high above the third-floor apartment.  Memory and music, my friends for the evening…  I can rocksteady ’til daylight.  The skank in the air wants me to get down with her; the rhythm is a goddess and we can swing all night.

And so it is that I spend my time.  Gently drifting, a mere notion upon the ether.  No direction but sure to touch ground when and where I belong…

2 thoughts on “With The Marleys, We Danced

  1. I have so many replies to this comment… First, you’re fucking nuts, in a good way. Before I went with Lion pictures, I looked up pictures of white guys with dreads and this came up. I wanted to use it, but chose the lions instead. Second, if I grow my hair out, I can get two, maybe three dreads tops. Combined with a bald spot, not a good look. Though, I will be the coolest man on Montco campus as a result. Thirdly, it’s not reggae that inspired me. I was in a good mood, hence I listened to reggae. Then, I spent some good time with some good people whom I love, so I came home still happy…More reggae ensued. Then I wrote.

    Thank you for the comment and the video!

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