Riff

(The rhythm will always get you).


The rhythms of my youth

indelibly embedded

cut with the precision of a surgeon

claw deeply,

at my gut strings

plucking vulture-like

at my yearning stranded senses

ripping voraciously

leaving me breathless

contorted, foetal, spent.

This heart-breaking ache

retreats like an assassin

until the next vicious chord

twists the scalpel further,

paring hidden signatures

with deft, anguished delight

the zeitgeist unleashed

© Graham Sherwood 03/2017