From Paul Siegell’s new book, jambandbootleg !
in the crowd,
the undulating cobblestone,
dozens old theater-seat rows from the stage—
I had nothing to do with this, but am,
indeed, a part of it:
most stones in hats/flat brims, some
dreaded some buzzed, frump shag-
dangling others, a few thinning, and o,
put-up pull-back boogie abilities in love as well—
for all the cobble’s in a yes-nod celebration:
aerobic, rolling, absorbed—transmitting
nothing says “thank you!” as sound as dance.
and then, when intensity descends to overwhelm
and a song’s expression c’mon-c’mon climbs that rise—
with all those loyal lyrics and notes exploding—
hundreds of handfuls
of cheering greens spring
like affirmative fists
from the cobble.