It’s not that I’m trying to fold glass into
an unclean split. I just know all of the words

without all the melody, sometimes—
–the mouth opens and moths flies out

with clawed wings and true, in that
moment it is too late to swallow back

the note; plus clearly the past cannot
be undone, so why stop singing just because

of one flat screech? Who among us has hit the
chorus of Emotions and not tried a Mariah

whistle that slices at the tender meat
of the vocal cords? It is in our nature

to mimic the wild. And I do, barrel—
–jawed, tongue swinging back and forth

like a digging metronome:

“You've got me feeling emotions
Deeper than I've ever dreamed of
oOoOoOOh oOOOoh”

Each creak of the voice a jagged river

flowing into another body–

–flowing into another body–

–flowing into another body–

–flowing into another body;

the endless running joy. A room packed
with lungs shrilling at the brick walls.

Not a single run able to weave together
into a crescendo of collapsed breathing,

but we are all just giggling
to the song. And ain’t that the point

of all this? Emotion, all of us together
in a small basement off Normal Street,

two bottles of Jose and not enough limes
to go around. The right tune escaping

all of our grasps. Our hands spilling
with laughter now, every single time

someone’s voice cracks–
–opens and makes more room

for our joy to come inside.