My Earth Tones don’t shine of gold, bronze or silver.
They chime as bold songs from old gongs with timbre.
Browns and beiges don’t describe my vision.
Sound stages bind color when the page is written.
My Sun beats down with fast spirals of bright bent dancers with sharp slants that fly fast off the stanzas.
To capture a sound would bind hands of the masters.
My Earth Drum comes from a weathered lover’s carol.
From light notes and long groans, strong bones thumb on a leather covered barrel.
Voluptuous thumps of percussive influxes rupture cracks in the surface of illustrious trumpets.
My head grows wrinkled and writhes in the constant sound that bounds off of anything that it touches.
A world bungled in metal but still a jungle forever.
A pearl so perfectly hoisted up from the oyster that held her.
The cloister and loiter before the boisterous bang.
Such an omen, an opus, the moment triangles rang.
I POUND like heavy ground kettles that tap embraced minds and match a sentient drum lover so they spiritually attach
between rays in the Summer that illuminate the backs to embody one another. A soul that won’t lapse.
Let him dance and shake wildly, and braze it in his path.
The pound of bass boldy embraced within his laugh.
My birth hums – you feel it.
It bum’Bumps every second of the season.
It runs heavy with in-pulse unsustainable with reason.
It bursts with each squeeze in a rhythmic cohesion.
My Earth Drum comes from where the perch hung.
Where the top bar sits to mark the first rung.
Where clouds of white cotton cushion the percussion
and vibes of life move the waves like pushed buttons.
My Drum Heart parts the Earth to press life while the Earth eyes parch the surf to stretch light
So the pulse starts at birth for the best – the blessed – and most bright.
Rests between measures like breaths with less effort.
The gasps signify gaps whose depths surpass letters.
I sun pale shepherds and clothe the frail lepers.
My Earth drum beats the strength to all levers.
Platinum doesn’t hold the shine to my stanzas.
No metal in the world can speak to my answers.
Old spells of the planet sing loudly once silent.
Gold sells to anyone whose hand can reach highest.
My king to the crown is beige, to blue… brown.
My Earth tones turn the stage to new ground.
Times press to my skin and write the world’s movement.
I rest to the breath of life and it’s music.
MonuMental 
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