I'm watching MTV, reading this little strip
running across the bottom saying
but before it can come around again
I'm hustling through the door of the Sundome
slowly exploding out of their bodies,
“Troop,” the thin black girl next to me says
by way of explanation, and I'm remembering
the concerts I went to as a kid, how dazzling
the black groups were, how I'd never seen
anything like them, the voices, and those spare,
beautiful moves that made my vertebrae float,
how I wanted to reach out, become them,
but this is different, this is
black on black, the kind of communion
that makes everything stop, swell
to one breath like it's doing now,
and then Troop is suddenly gone
and the house lights come on and then
they go off again and there's this
beautiful roar, “After Seven,”
continued,
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