Saturday, September 3, 2016

Dancing Valentine

I suppose I’m the ego of the place
But the place has its own separate self
Which is always being replaced
The geniuses with leaves
Are moved around like furniture
Like clouds and stars
In which I remain
The abiding centerpiece
Eaten by heat and mosquitoes
When I hear their bolero
I strap myself in like Odysseus
And yet everything is dancing
Some more fiercely than others
The tango of life
The waltz of death

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