The second wind on life, that is!
with Mingus fingers
helping to instigate me
musically since Joltober,
a passing freight train
can't halt my progress.
tearing apart notions of healing,
every nebula is prologue to this moment.
this near future
has never felt better,
and I march forward
without circumstellar auspices,
trailblazing my own violescent path.
finding joy in movement,
things won't be the same after this.
on this side or the next,
I become what was at one point
proving them all wrong with progress.
the jazz joins the joust,
and I am unprotected from conquering [my] life.