it showed
an utter disdain
for the conventions
of such an event
that they would
not toe the line
like the others
they proffered
none of the standard
shoulder-dipping
sidestepped shuffles
nor the exuberant
failing of arms
that have come
to be expected
of "good" dancers
those overused staples
that accompany such
predictable song choices
outdated and enjoyed
only ironically
this dance could not
faithfully manifest
their truth

they danced
not for that unnoticed
peripheral audience
but solely
to tell a story
to one another
instead they chased
cavorted and capered
with piggybacks
and fireman's lifts
arms-spread spinning
they became fireworks
their bodies
exploding apart
pulled together
breathlessly
slipping
   and stumbling
without a care
leaping shoelessly
from place to place
from song to song
ending always
in each other's arms

Am I unworldly?

And should I suffer with you?


Is my pain too small?

Am I unworldly?

What kind of world is it then?


This one, where I am?

I'm getting older:

more experiences, more --


different from you.

Most individuals aim for speculative wealth,
these linear channels are paralleled in others
when taught to gain a greater sense of self.
If we continue to grow grouped as a collective,
are the surroundings around you yours alone.
Priorities are often lost in the process of reformation claimed through phased stages and good fortune is drawn in multiple forms.
Step aside for an instant to question contempt and observe at your own mixed objectives,
foreseen in the dreams of who you want to be.
Not visions of anarchy or set enforced orders but a better balance of autonomy in between.

patchwork girl dreaming
piecing together the scraps of silk
frayed ribbons of broiderie anglais
the tears of velvet darker than midnight
squares of sackcloth hessian made to scrape
against skin both thick and paperthin

patchwork girl sewn together
with a golden thread and a needle finer than hate
embroidered edges with floss spun by spiders
from clouds of dreams, flower thoughts, starwonders
and fragile pockets of maybe hidden beneath morning dew
stitches all lose, then too pulled too tight

she is together
she is all fallen apart
the soft shape of a doll
the tender shape of a girl

hold her, not an armful of scraps
     but something precious, one of a kind
          couture

Born as one, will die alone, but what may come in time?
A loner for eternity, perhaps a clever mind
Might turn into a brilliant thinker or a thoughtful soul
We watch the journey of lonely men until they fade and go

At best a man is on his own, where he can touch the sky
For what he wants to be in life, he’ll find the wings to fly
To wisdom and awareness
To love and even happiness

But what if the herd closes in, guided by one mind
It shares a common cause not slightly challenged or refined
Just follow the leader
Reckless, the screamer

Common sense is greater good but only if a sense
Is powered by a single mind and not by all his friends
Cleverness is quickly lost in expanding crowd
Sadly, most common senses are those that are most loud

The power of the masses should never be denied
Shouting in a crowd is bliss, but please don’t lose your mind
You’re still an individual
Please, be the individual

Life is a game
An odd one,
Elastic rules,
Different editions,
Some slight variations
Here and there
In packaging and content.

It is a game
In which nobody wins
And nobody loses
But everyone
Is nonetheless a player.

Yeah, you have
To think of life as a game:
Nor because it is always fun
Or because you can
Score some points.
Forget the scores, forget the rules.
Those are the ways
To try to stop playing.

But life is a game
That you can play
Observing what happens to you
And push yourself
A bit further
Than you were before.
Try not to be ahead of others
Or ahead of your time
Or ahead of whatever
Someone thinks you should accomplish:
Be ahead of yourself
From time to time
You will find yourself
A better player
At your own game.