The feverish heat

And the sweat of foreign bodies.

I’ve never liked the touch of another but

here in the pit I welcome it.

The music is moving us. My friend asks,

“how can you bear it?”

and I think, how can I not?

I let the music move me,

Like a drum, a steady beat, a primal rhythm,

that fights it way out.

Move out my way! or–take my shoulder, brother.

In this pit, we are blood bonded

by fear, by anger, an ecstatic joy, like lightning

that runs through our bodies.

We’re on fire; enraged

and pushing each other to the edge.

This is the pit

and we are the ones who move it