When the running man was finally played out,
they all continued to stand there, rapping
their fingers against the blue and yellow
tiles on the wall, lit up by the magic:
I was outside, trying to get inside,
and I tapped at the door, as the cold air
made me waddle, hopping to keep inside
all the fury that I was and am here:
In the back of my mind, I could see the
lights strobing, swirling colored souls like leaves
in the autumn, dried out by the weather:
Dance itself was the oak tree around which
this foliage decided to decay, crisp.
urbansonnets 