and he does not think it strange,
watching two hours of the hottest hip hop,
in freezing cold surround sound air,
returns home to a medium warm bath,
where the drink served, icy cold vitamin water,
liquefying the mournful, dismal~gloomy,
lugubrious poems of lost love he finds
under his hello poetry pillow,
that gives no one relief,
neither to the writer or the victimizer
and he does not think it strange
reads strange takes n' poem tales from Avenida Paulista,
but his body dances to an Argentine milongia melancholia,
a contrast and a contest,
his heart asks where is Patagonia,
as the Arctic Vortex melts into the bath water
and he does not think it strange
for he know, he knows that this makes little sense,
but perfect sense to the poet-man,
try to see it his way,
there is a fussing and fighting inside,
that cannot be worked out
and he does not think it strange
but this be the funk groove of his extra
ordinary life wherein his body and heart,
and hundreds more,
can be held aloft
on a single wrist with fluid ease,
if allowed
and he does not think it strange
when he says,
aside aside fellow dancer,
and he does not think it strange,
he wants you to understand
for that, you must be
*be beside beside, fellow dancer
You deserve some explanation.
Saw two hours of this dance company
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5EZ-eS-LClY
went out into the sub freezing cold.
climbed unto the holy water to
read and write, and reads poems on HP from SP,
and poems of busted love while
McCartney sings We Can Work It Out
writes of the streams mingling,
and he does not think it strange
but duty bound to ask you to join
the ride, and herein he signs your
permission slip,
for his woman is off dancing Argentine tango at a milonga
till long after he falls asleep