Careen
Serene
it’s like riding
a
bicycle with no hands
careening
serene straight
into
the soft manifesto of
a
Ballet troupe
plie
tendu
failli
across
a gleaming floor
under
entrancing chandeliers
where
an
awkward
but
sometimes clever
wallflower
cowers in a cozy
corner
where
three keening voices
compete
for free admission
to
a much darker disco
it’s like wishing
the
delicate intensity that
brews
between dancers was
your
own ritual of intimacy
instead
of sitting alone with
your
legs dangling into an
empty
orchestra pit tempted
to
pry open the privacies of
strangers
as self-sacrifice &
befriend
a woman named
Lucretia
an
ample under-study who
will
never
properly
pirouette
***
This poem is an elephant. I had fun
writing it but can’t make heads or tails of it. I think that’s why I love it so
much: an out of the blue mind meld.
All in a day’s work, eh? An attempt to write something creative as a distraction.
In propinquity,
Nic
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