The Buzz

the buzz

The Buzz

oh how beautiful the sound

sparkling cylinders hanging from limbs

dormant

they wait

for traveling gusts of desert winds

prompting them to sing their songs

for one to be pushed into the other

they wait

for little curious fingers caked in dirt and pastry

grabbing

in the enlightened state of "i dont know"

naturally the experimentalist emerges

urges phalanges to test the mechanics of these strange hanging wonders

oh those little dirty fingers

yet to be taught not to reach out and learn

the songs are sweet

those that they sing

unique as the child's fingerprints

they hitch a ride on the breeze joining the chirping conversation of the Buzz Birds

happy and plump with fallen crumbs and the feed that Jay throws to the ground for them

you'll hear too,

in this dance of sounds that is The Buzz,

Geronimo's guitar

he plays with a gentle smile on his face

corners curling with every passing familiar glance

once in a while Mattoose will sing a quiet spanish song

smoke curling around his bundled body

once in a while Dale will chuckle

Montelius will cough

Boot will bark

Mongrel Punk will lap up milk from the silver dog bowl ringed with mineral deposits

so many members in this caffeinated chorus

i am filled with hope here

listening to The Buzz