Blue Music Dream

Dance In Third Person

(For I.A.W., whose sickness could have been mine)

 

Moonlight courts their bare skin

Stomping their feet

To the jubilant beat, shingle of the night

Bronze sculptures, only fluid ore

Malleable in the coming wind

Strong willed against the cry

Lent eyes of self denial-

We are not going to disembody you

No, just peel you, outside consciousness,

Like onions

We will deny ourselves the satisfaction

Yes, they dance in third person

The friction of their thighs

Muscle that knows no liposuction

It maddens them

In a circle

Dancing around a flame

The torch of a skinned man

Bamboo into his pallate, out his rectum

What he did, they do in return

They are stomping their bare feet

They are clapping their bare hands

Shaking their plump breast

To a barren beat,

Ripe with an era’s pain

And longing, an induced contraction of will

Chains hanging from their lips

Piercings in rebel places, hiatus

Machines slide through here, and man

Embodiments of a culture

Natural hair fertilized with natural dung

Nipples hanging erect with dangling artifacts

Things to remind them of the past

They salute their Queen, pay homage

She looks on

‘If you don’t dance, you, too, will be skinned

They dance into the night, they are free

Possessed by something;

Their own freedom?

There is no Chlamydia along this shores,

No candida, no inhibition

Only a curious madness

Sustained by opposite flesh

This is the Island of Nomate

Where pistils need no pollen.

 

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