Hands on Drums

Shamans' hands on drums
thump-thump-thumping rumbling thunder rhythm running
through warm wet ground
to our enshrouding clouds of somber doubt
scattered by the beat, sweated clean
tumbled off in roughness close enough to love to rouse our groins, our groans
building, falling
to a hum that slithers
slips my post-coitus posture
and I'm up to prance the pasture
grooving along our mud-floor room
in motion, inertia shunned, no thought, all sound
unwound in a dance unbound by the roots of youth and spoiled fruit
rotten trauma bonds sluicing like juices
out pores of old wounds in one long
pump of frothing blood from
shamans' hands on drums
before the stumble into
rum-sodden slumber.