5-29-01 AMERarcaneA



To hold the key is to miss the point
In a space so vast there are many ways in
(just ask the border patrol)
Language splinters like dry wood
Along dirt roads and marble facades

A violin speaks in Symphony Hall
And in the bayous of Louisiana
A guitar crushes people back in a concrete hockey rink
And shares quiet love on a Mississippi evening
A drum can count cadence across a football field,
Sweat on a stoop in Spanish Harlem
Or complete a circle in Idaho
A voice…well, there are thousands…

Sharing sorrow and spreading joy
Fighting injustice and begging for sex
Sometimes serious, sometimes just singing along
With the catchy mindless tune that is America
For this moment in time

This place can sort of be explained it that it