my dance is a whirling dervish
and can not be domesticated or
kept tight in tired bottles…

i refuse, this day, to exhale
stale expiration dates; dont collar
my breath or bother my shadow

with shackles or the depth of
darkness… the sun sits on
my tongue and when i need you

to see the light then i’ll say
something… and if you catch
a writer by the toe, then

“i think you better let it go…”

there’s no tellin where it’s been.
longevity is such a wasted wish
but if you understand brevity

then wish for a love that runs
on ancient rhythms and gets
extremely high smile mileage.