two_teenagers raze they're playing ping-pong without a table while the grass on either side of their game is gored by blades too dull to dole out any lasting damage. the wind whispers a warning. something about the danger of standing in the middle of the street when all these killer cars are on the loose. they won't heed what they can't hear. even if that sapless sound reached their ears, they'd only swat it away with the rubber of their threadbare refuge. red out front. black in the back. serious as a heart_attack. so many chops and lobs and loops and blocks. are you keeping score? 260520 ... ovenbird With voices perched on the broken beams between boy and man, making music happen with their hands like puppy paws, too big for their still growing bodies. I wanted to trade places, just for a moment. I wanted to pull on their youth like a new pair of shoes. I wanted to see how far I could run, into the past, to regain the chance to sing. At the same age I imagined what it would sound like to blend my voice with another’s. I drew waves from four corroding strings and the aching length of my larynx, always warped by the threat of tears. And I made solitary sounds. And I waited. And no one came. And here were these two boys, with their joy and their freedom, and I wanted to be them. I wanted a piece of their experience. This isn’t just a song, I wanted to say. Place your hand on your throat. Feel that vibration? That is the hum of belonging. I hope you always know the distinct thrum of its rising voice. 260521 what's it to you? who go blather from