Raver

I'm all about the music:
the way it goes quiet first,
all underwater-like,
then it comes with the swooshy,
settin' my spine a jitter.
As the kick starts getting closer
the whole place
is a sweating, wetting
piss-box of noise
and happy stink:
the purest kind of electrocution.
Each knock-drum
is a dropped watermelon,
a belly-flop,
a puncture.
Forget what you think you know
about elbows and wrists;
oh the owlneckery.
We all badly want the plane to land.
As the bass sets to work
on your lungs and hollow tum
and the EQ peaks like the pyrenees,
you'll realise the shape of your skull
is a remarkable thing.