Rich Ferguson

If you carefully listen to the fine print at the end of most every human breath, you’ll discover a song of life. A thumping, pumping, bump and grind of Why Can’t We All Just Get Along. It’s a chorus with many voices—some rage louder than sprouts in bomb gardens. Others are more sublime, like kindness making a 2 am booty call to your inner being. Still others choose to deny our song’s existence. They say it’s a ghost, white as sheets they wear to Klan rallies. Yet all that hate won’t make our song go away. That beat don’t need a pill to keep it rock hard and steady. Can’tcha feel it move you? Love is the axis upon which spins the record of our boldly playing hearts.