Published November 26, 2006
The night swelters,
Hot and loud,
Alarms screech like electric cicadas
And frantic dusty wings grope for light,
A long day has passed ripe with beauty and ache
I've walked many miles but my right foot always catches,
And I trip,
And I fall,
And insects swarm and cling to a dirty bulb,
And I trip, walking a broken ballet
One foot light as bluebottle wings
The other lead and always dragged.
A moth eternally collides with light
But I must watch my feet.
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I know to walk a dance seems contradictory, but i guess i was trying to portray a kind of lurching broken elegance. Obviously not to much avail, cheers for pointing that out though i shall look over that in the second draft.
walking a broken ballet? What does that mean?