I Am Drumstein

I’ll push them around, black dots on a page. Relay that together
Impossible tools, taught badly at school. The children would stay
Was a humpbacked whale, was a leopard with spots. I knew I was rare
In Popopolis, wingophone zubicus drums
I am Drumstein
Scenes of music, lush. Waxing words over belt lines
Two hands on ten strings, three pigeons who sing. We stand here together
By wing or by fin, this melody’s skin. The rhythmatic weather
Crane, lily, and witch. Brain man in the fridge. Yes, everything is real
Cue the violins. Brings the cellos in. Pianos twirl for all the boys and girls.
Hear the choir sing. Listen to the church bells chime. That guitar is drunk.
The tympanies enraged. Wingaphones, we’ll play them together. Zubicus,
Albanian zither. Dot and Bug just stand there and listen. Drumstein providing,
you’re on God’s mission