Monday, February 25, 2008

I do not dance

The moon has melted,
dripping silver off black

The dancers have come, again,
to drown in shadows and
transform themselves to artists.

They pull their blue skin tight
over their corpses like stretched

thin skins that look
like opaque balloons.

I am not one of these dancers.
My skin is not on the loom.
I am not blue, I am silver.

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