The Precipitous Beat of Infectious Sound

The coolest discopunk dance party in Korea.

The floors and walls pulsated through the darkness
with green and pink.
Glistening with sweat,
bodies leapt, finding solidarity in a
chaos
lassoed by a beat
so deep
it crashed like thunder-waves on the tshirts and
hanging lips and shut eyelids
and dripping hair clinging
to the necks
of the coolest kids in Seoul.
And the flailing arms tried to free themselves
of the burden of purpose and choice
and mind.
Slave now to the free world of sound,
yet chained to the earth by immobile coil.

Everyone with eyes shut tight (not by eyelids, but
by the love of music and poison and motion)
lest vision, physical and deceiving, reminded them that
all the rose pedal painted and shellfish glistening eyes were on them,
turned into princess and maniac,
beautiful and surreal.
Instantaneous like burning gasoline
consumed in the sound.