Roots Music by Eve West Bessier
artwork by Claude
Smith
Zoo
You, Boogaloo
(listening
to “Freddy Freeloader” by Miles Davis)
Rhinos
rubbin’ aphrodisiac horns, scopin’ the score.
Giraffes
seekin’ more, necks cranked to check out the scene
between
high branches of staccato, clipped notes of tonal tease.
The chimpanzees,
with ease, please themselves with eucalyptus
leaves
stolen from the pandas in pen ten, grinning like Zen,
and then
some. With the pink flamingoes,
there goes the
neighborhood.
Splashes of cobalt in the zebra stall, striped
is all
the hype, snipe some zig and zag on your rag and keep
the julep
clippin’ on pursed lips and cheeks as big as Dizzy’s.
Hip trippin’
move into the sax groove that taps the hooves of
antelopes
and makes the elephants trumpet along with the song.
The lizards
in their glass houses, throwing no stones, cool
blooded
zone, slithering like an eclipse of control and zippin’
to the
electric buzz, the hum of the tropical fish in their bubble.
Stunned
stingrays and sharks roamin’ like vacuum hoses,
their
non-noses over the turf searchin’ for snacks and attackin’
the backs
of fellow finned fanatics. In the attics of the club,
those
chimpanzees trapeze to please the crowd, loud yawps
over the
rooftops of the world. Hold on to your hats cats,
the tigers
are sweeping the waterline with feline sleek,
benign
to no rule and spoolin’ the line with jewel eyes.
Zoo you,
Boogaloo. Chew the news, blow
a fuse.
Dig that
Noah with his twos.
Bang!
You're Alive!
You are
here,
red pin
in the swirling spin of a galaxy.
Remnant
of the Big Bang in the golden egg.
DNA strands
wrapping around profound perfection.
Every
molecular rind in line seems
to define
a master plan. The mind desires order
in order
to feel safe, while the heart seeks stars.
Reality,
a fickle fabric of cyclical perception,
as beguiling
as time and matter. What matters
in conclusion
is the way you approach
the subject
matter of life: like a challenge or a joke,
a riddle
or a mountain, a dream or a land mine.
And how
easily it all unwinds at the first signs of trauma,
or the
crashing of dogma, the thrashing of new birth.
It's worth
more if you savor the moment with an afterglow
of trans-spatial
contentment. We are more than we know.
Why do
we try so hard to make everything jell and fit,
when life
chews at the bit to run free of convention?
Kick ass!
Jump start the steed of inspiration.
Hot wire
stolen
moments in the back behind the seat of authority.
Attention!
The tension is the juice. Make
it nectar,
thick
and sweet. Meet the day with
unmatched socks
and shock
a few habits to death.