"Can I have this dance?"
"You don't look
Abel,
even if you
Cain."
They said while
Feet throb
with excitement;
hands raise
in spite of the
pain.
Eyes hurt
looking at the
blinding
spinning
lights in your eyes.
And
fear and joy
dance:
Within nerves
itching
to
share and pair
synchronize muscles
for an
ancient
tune.
Music stops
thoughts interfere
with
fluids moving
without knowing
but some
journey
Ended for more.
Stepped on feet,
bruised egos;
"
The rhythm's too fast:
shirt hangs out,
Probably poor: a
Sloppy
wallflower",
unrequited
pity on a
cowlick twitch.
Life is
a
Sufi
dizzying top along with
Nature won't play.
Art is somebody's trash,
lost in a stash
when it follows its
own
nightmare.
Sweat is
purifying
endorsing
endocrine:
belying secrets
nobody wants or cares.
They said "no",
emphasizing the
o.
Mouth pursed,
bile for money
poured out of
pockets of disgust
like the leaking
rusty bucket
grandpa's fish died in.
The floor buckled
sympathizing with knees
pre-
arthritic
and echoing knobs
of attic doors
forbidden to
enter.
Making
unwary
pilgrims
travel a road they hated to pay:
for tolls,
and
toil;
and
barricades set up
cleverly to wind
threads of
angst
in
unwanted places.
From now until whenever
destination of twine.
Conflicting patients
impatient for cure.
"So be it, so be it", the crowd moaned.
"Your idols became too expensive
for
nourishment
and they abhor your care.
Footsie with enemies:
a
waltz to Hell.
Ladders to Paradise
made out of pride
go downwards
32 feet per second per second:
Clapping as you slide".
Boomerang Bingo every morning
you wake.
Taking nothing with you
But
worry or prayer.
There's a need for blackout curtains,
on windows to the world.
Newspapers now stop up
the ears.
"Leave them, me, us, ourselves,
nobody, anybody
alone."
"Get out of here,
you
hebephrenic
prophet:
know it all, no-ing
everything!"
the Mad Weeks of May, come what may! (obviously let the seller beware)