Member Rara Avis
The stage is too clean and waiting for sweat,
the pound of rhythmic falls, sounding in union.
The shadows in old music thrown to the walls
are exercised nightly, forged by young energy.
The need to celebrate an end with a new beginning --
a simply told story finding truth in the dark.
The sensual unreeling, submitting to collapse.
Every breath your last ... until the next one passes.
Charged in the moment, breaking entropy.
Casting out doubt and killing off failure.
Slipping between hour hands, cleanly in step,
and never falling back. And yes. Oh, their giving!