More Lines 2K17: 25

Finally

After the show, it's the afterparty: they hand you
a pair of skates and you go, past the lysol, past
the chirping arcade deaths, the lye-shine
and leaven of the soft pretzel tabernacle—
you go to where the music is. Stumble
and weight, but then the flow. Quick
as sleep you join the field of metronome
lilies, the stir of hips and thighs.
The glide can only be remembered.
You remember learning is a way
of falling. Steal glances at the places
God might be tonight: the empty
center and its physics of pull,
the lightless DJ booth, just too far
ahead of you in the endless
counterclockwise. But this is your jam.
Be free at last of wondering. Never
let the mic magnetize you no more.

song prompt from Kerry R