Riffs, dancing through chromosomes
meant for jiggling. Hundreds of busy flies
swimming through my soup, through my
muscles, making me dance like a lion in a
fire drill – Tall trucks laughing at my swaying.
Better than sex, not by a lot but riffing is
the Mount Everest of life, miraculous
thunderbolts making me walk on hands
on fence pickets which are on fire with
throbbing bass lines making my body live
in the most immense heat, but sex is good too.