Work pals beckon
“Get on the floor with us now!
We had them play your favorite!”
Thank you, no, not without the fog machine;
The lighting is wrong,
My legs are sore, you don’t know,
And I don’t remember this being my favorite song.
Isn’t it enough
To monitor you all
To mind your seats and coats and phones
On call to render any first aid required?
I’ve found a spot
Where three lasers intersect
Eight times per minute, like clockwork
If I watch a little longer
More curious patterns may emerge.
Isn’t it enough
That I showed up anywise
Recently shaven and dashingly shod?
Weren’t the prior dares sufficiently met?
That I drank absinthe, which I noticed all of you didn’t
That I talked to the woman on the right, Bob
So you could talk specifically to the one on the left
That I delivered your dollar, Rich, to the caged dancer;
Oh by the way
She smells like Chanel No. 5, and
Her name is Rita and she has wonderful teeth;
Next time, tip her yourself.
So no, I’ll sit this one out
I have a need to continue to figure out this light show.
From my perch I can observe the smiles on your silly faces
While the wormwood crawls through my veins.
Even if I die tomorrow
Having never danced again
There will be no regrets.
Nov 1, 2025
Nov 1, 2025 at 6:34 PM UTC
Work pals beckon
“Get on the floor with us now!
We had them play your favorite!”
Thank you, no, not without the fog machine;
The lighting is wrong,
My legs are sore, you don’t know,
And I don’t remember this being my favorite song.
Isn’t it enough
To monitor you all
To mind your seats and coats and phones
On call to render any first aid required?
I’ve found a spot
Where three lasers intersect
Eight times per minute, like clockwork
If I watch a little longer
More curious patterns may emerge.
Isn’t it enough
That I showed up anywise
Recently shaven and dashingly shod?
Weren’t the prior dares sufficiently met?
That I drank absinthe, which I noticed all of you didn’t
That I talked to the woman on the right, Bob
So you could talk specifically to the one on the left
That I delivered your dollar, Rich, to the caged dancer;
Oh by the way
She smells like Chanel No. 5, and
Her name is Rita and she has wonderful teeth;
Next time, tip her yourself.
So no, I’ll sit this one out
I have a need to continue to figure out this light show.
From my perch I can observe the smiles on your silly faces
While the wormwood crawls through my veins.
Even if I die tomorrow
Having never danced again
There will be no regrets.
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