You're all out
with friends,
and terrible music.

That's the first stanza
of the first poem here.
The next is different.

Stay where you are,
we don't need you or
the simulated *** you call dancing.

When you've grown up,
like I'm trying to (sometimes too fast)
you will walk out of one of those clubs
and see the clouds have cleared.

Then, after you've discovered that you have a body,
you'll see it as a tool,
like a hammer you watched your father
swing a dozen times in the shed.

That's all it is:
A tool for your spirit.