Originally posted 2/7/2013.
My dance, my bad, my deep…
gave a sorrow opening,
loosed it on
the gap within, and now:
Layabout and cry. Going to victim
this whole long day; go pick me some kudzu,
funeral bouquet for never-ending grief show.
Still, got rocker hips, roller hips, jazz
groin and lips and hips;
joy must end up somewhere
when pushed from head and heart…thus,
I end up as one sad grinder. End up bad.
Bad, sinking in deep but still, there’s
one way to set it off
and hold it back —
so I’m off to music while still in the hole
to give my bad, my deep a resistance,
give it rhythm, a big mole digging in
under the roots, charged up,
rubbling my dark village, quake cracking,
flipping dirt into the light. When I, frightened, shake,
I still gotta dance my dance, my bad, my deep;
I dance, even if I dance sad, because that’s my gotta happen.