song of the silent

dance, girl.

breakfast isn’t for 9 hours,
and moonlight showers
rain on the backs of naked dancers.

mascara washes away

night after night
for the next 12 seasons,
as proclaimed by the morse
of tortoise shells
clinking from below…

dance, menina.
the slow toll of night sounds,
part toucan, part cloudy rumble.
the sun has bowed offstage -
starcircus will commence.

from barritonal skies
a moon chants,
a silver discus: the last athenian relic.
i wonder,
what will we leave behind?

red red wine, chopsticks,
hulas? huckleberries,
crystal jjingle earrings, spoons
or knives?
on a hill, one home draped in malignance?

let it be the neighbor’s
with a solitary tomb:
here lies one nation under god.

we’ll know not of it

dancing, as we will,
unto the night.

out with the bodies!! out with the souls!!

one ginger step outside your skirts -
naked fever,
give and take of night,

whose moonlight showers
rain on the backs of beautiful dancers.