Interpretive Dance A container of the universe is a poem: tell us what you think. I’d help you deal with your selfishness but I’ve got my own to concern me. Don’t you want to be that place for others where security is no question? Blinded by a fear of wool over the eyes. Don’t go always in the habit of loving in hindsight. If we weren’t boxing away at waves in the ocean we’d be bruising our own children, heiroglyphs for the ones that reared us: tread marks, a fence, a hole in the backyard, a swinging door, what’s for dinner, a dark bedroom hour where no peep dare sound, on the mantle a rack-of-ribs christ on a crucifix hanging by his nails forgiving some not-know-what-they-do’s on skull hill, perhaps a bit of ourselves agonizing, “Look at me now I have performed the steps of time like a conversation with many complaints, but it was an interpretive dance and my theme was complaint. By your many hands I was passed, like in transit, like the peace pipe. Look at me now, I forgive you. Look at me forgiving you. So many years, you never told me. You’ve got no clue what you are doing here, how you affect anything, and you think you’re going nut-so. I forgive you, but if I’d’ve known, I would have crushed you instead of feeling like the only one.”
Posted on: Sat, 08 Jun 2013 22:14:02 +0000
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