ir.rhythm

last night i fell
into an orchestra--

no crash of cymbal
but the dripping of the clarinet 
mouths on the wooden floor
of the stage--

before the last song
the conductor made a tribute 
to the rhythm of 
ordinary life--

to heart beats & 
tapping pens on desks--

i don't think i believe her

does everyone have
as irregular a tempo as
i do?

growing up 
we had an electric drum set
in our attic 

& my father tried to teach
me the simplest beat

tish-tish tash
tish-tish tash

on the snare & the high hat
i could never ad 
in the bass drum--

i would feel whatever
semblance of rhythm 
i had found 

running away from
me without its shoes on--

moth wing laughing 
on the neon lit ceiling--

even without stumbling
over foot pedals
my patterns always sped up
or slowed down--

it's tragic because i
love the idea of percussion--

in the back of the band room
in middle school 
after practice i meandered between
bongos & tablas--

tapping their course skin surfaces 

i found ir-rhythms--
their rain fall euphoria

the talking drum with it's tongue
down my throat--
each thumb striking skull--

i never wanted to be
a drummer in a band---

i just wanted to fight out
my own cadence--

oh are there people
who can live in 4/4 time?

have you ever thought of
your body as a metronome?

i can still see the frustration
of my first guitar teacher as
he shook his head--
stuck the end of a pencil
in his mouth 

telling me to
keep up keep up

i tore out the electric strings
they ran down my back

oh fret-board spine

music & me have always been
out of sync--

my father worked nights back
then & ate dinner 
on the sofa when i got
up for 7th grade-- 

my youngest brother still
only a castanet 

amplifier snap--

i don't want to find 
rhythms for you--

sometimes i live only
to spite conductors

their batons swinging 
above my head--

i stepped on the
lips of my old trumpet--

the drum set in the attack
chews femurs 
for sticks