Tentative tinkering
up/down (de)tuning
Soft roll on cymbals,
and sweep of scales
the anticipation
of a true medoly
or a steady rhythm
morphs slowly,
up swelling,
crashing disparate
lines like thoughts
all disorganized
gently asserting
then pulling in
behind a guitar
pinging a phrase
then letting go
to infant chords
played on keys
or another guitar
working to be born
into a steady riff
but falling back
into a miasma
of separate sounds
strangely stitching
themselves together
into a single
slowly soaring
song that never
ends.

~~~~~~~~

This poem is for any Grateful Dead fans out there….