Strings

Electric whisperings and magnetic bleats

remind you that it's merely a machine

As your fingers find their place in an auditory grid,

pulling and stretching a tune from the strings

that are tossed around by muscle memory

Notes thrown off into musical oblivion

Then drawn back, seduced by a quaking bassline

You reach into the fretboard

And scoop out sounds

That float like bubbles off your fingers

Bouncing off of ears and drumbeats

Until it loses meaning as an instrument

And becomes pure music leaping from your hands