Rafters lit with strobe lights,
smoke lines,
broken paneled reflections of
31 years of bottled insights,
throttled insides.
Air laced with metallic smiles,
sporadic flickers of someone else’s lighter.
I twirl absentmindedly.
Plume by Loscil.
I have no business here.

You watch me with
staggered silence,
smile wide and big and
impact and
sides of me are split,
Your laugh some
blunted  rifle.  

You watch me with 10 plus years of
a bawling inner child,
unmanageable reflexes
that end in stifled violence,
milky looks and a muted
predatory hunger.
I am wearing
my best calf impression:
doe-eyes and stealing all the glances,
blue tights, black heeled sandals that scuff the floor as I
daydream in public,
rub a soft elbow,
sip a virgin seltzer tonic with
cherries and some other light garnish
(stay as close to God as possible)
watch you with marrow armor and
calculated patience.
I’m a blue-black swirl of approachable silence.
Twirl somewhere nearby and deign to give you
open eyes for at least
twenty seconds at a time.
Laugh a swaying knife.

You asked for it.


“first dances”



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