Post by cairo on May 15, 2009 21:03:23 GMT -5
A pulse. A pound. A beat?
A beat.
A disco beat.
A drum beat.
Rhymes and beats.
Beatings in war.
Beatings in kitchens.
Beatings in school.
What is a beat, that lets us say it so?
What about the beats? The poetic beats? Beat poetry?
Can it open a window to the soul?
Can it make you think?
I think this, sometimes, when my husband beats me. When he raises the fists, and contorts his face like he's pretending to be a monster (pretending to be? is), and when he beats me.
Not poetry beats.
Not disco beats.
No. Beats until the skin purples and the tears flow like...like tears.
He doesn't understand the word no.
No no no no.
Yes is all he says. With his beats.
So I beat him.
And now there he is. In the bed. On the bed. In the whiteness of the room.
There is movement around him.
Rushing. Shouting.
For a while he stops.
And then.
Ah. There it is.
A beat. A beat he understands.
A heartbeat.
A beat.
A disco beat.
A drum beat.
Rhymes and beats.
Beatings in war.
Beatings in kitchens.
Beatings in school.
What is a beat, that lets us say it so?
What about the beats? The poetic beats? Beat poetry?
Can it open a window to the soul?
Can it make you think?
I think this, sometimes, when my husband beats me. When he raises the fists, and contorts his face like he's pretending to be a monster (pretending to be? is), and when he beats me.
Not poetry beats.
Not disco beats.
No. Beats until the skin purples and the tears flow like...like tears.
He doesn't understand the word no.
No no no no.
Yes is all he says. With his beats.
So I beat him.
And now there he is. In the bed. On the bed. In the whiteness of the room.
There is movement around him.
Rushing. Shouting.
For a while he stops.
And then.
Ah. There it is.
A beat. A beat he understands.
A heartbeat.