The Free Association Of Woodshedding [or: "we are the musicmakers."]

woodshed  
v. To lock oneself away with a musical instrument and practice, either a particular piece or in general, until the player has improved greatly or can perfectly play the piece he has been practicing.
 

I.
&
     as if
             i were published
             prolifically
             i cram the contents
             of my cranium
             on random receipts
             & slivers of cardboard
             riffing on rapture
             alive & well
             within the walls of the woodshed

where
as if
 i were a virtuoso
soloing in the native tongue
of the versaphone
singing of lady soul
within me
(because she is my queen
my everything)
searching for my purpose within truth
discovering the truth within beauty
carving a brand new nuance of meaning
on the tabula rasa of expression
this is my story
         my song
full
    of what
                was the blues
then & now
catapulted from the canon
of recollection
            into the crucible of identity
            onto the canvas of individuality
conforming only to the persistence of memory
never giving up the ghost of yesterday
winning at the end of the way
wisdom wont
(even in the grasp of death)
to life
which wills the lungs
inside me
expanding & expending
every breath
into a souliloquy that sighs:
freedom
ain’t never been free.
but must i die…
to become a legend
rescued from oblivion?
II.
&
    as if
           i could see forever’s
           footprints
                      through the maze
                                  of my vagabond eyes
           this world
           all too wary
           of its own shadow
                     appears before me
                 in streams of ultraviolet
                 consciousness
                     &
                     autobiographical
                                 daydreams
scaling the heights of the horizon on breaths of air
that summon sundry silhouettes 
of once slippery memories
skating their way into the immortal
fusion of life & death
stirring up the sound 
of far off drums
from the distant past, in the jazz
of our kissing bodies
conceiving another universe in the womb of mother earth
as she scores love (…the only song there is)
into the porous pulse playing within our passion.
making music
that dreams
reality.