My shoulders a mountaintop
My mind a sky
Would you climb?
Will you fly?

My ears are open
My eyes are to the sky
God I will try
But help me let this go
If I must

Remember when a woman’s walk
Her poise and chance
And most importantly, her ability to dance
Is what drew her outline and intrigued
Every able bodied man
Single or not
To look at her
To wish to offer her a hand
And yet as I am
An able bodied modern man
I hate who I am
Not because I can, but because I cannot dance
Half so well as I like to think I can
But perhaps…
Under the right circumstances
If I could see the shooting star before it descends
And ultimately lands
I would possibly
Almost definitely
Try and practice dancing again

From the last scribble
To the last scrawl

The last storm which lasts
Beyond the last hope in all

Like a lasting song
Or the last lengthy drawl

Let the artist draw last
What is meant to be drawn