power comes in many shapes and sizes.
power comes in an angry word, a triumphant praise, a string of notes.
power comes in quiet confidence, in fury, in the burn of inspiration.
music holds power.
words and notes twist, curve, fall over one another, writhing and pounding, traveling in currents through blood and sinew, moving bodies, muscles, minds.
the curve of a line quickly translates to the curve of a hip, rocking and swaying in time, rising and falling with crescendos.
music is music.
bodies are music.
moving, twisting, curving, propelled forward, propelled back, weaving together and bursting apart.
flesh beats a new sound into the pavement, arms and legs falling and tumbling, fighting to say something new, to say something in line with existing words and sounds.
a primitive language, music.
a primitive language, dance.
a primitive race, humans.
we are all dirt and grime, ridges and smooth lines, sweat and blood.