There you are.

That place in me that knows secret things.

The place between the drumstick and the drum

from which the beat arises.

A place of violence.  And of music…

I am here now, being beaten into song.

Is it the song of my soul?

Or just the painful, relentless throb of the space between…

Only the echo knows.

For now, I am left simply with the thunderous applause of silence.

My only audience, in the primal thrashing within.