I can't and
I won't
trap my fingers in the doorjamb
or drop a rock on my quad
I will honor and bow to and sing to
the fragile vibrations of rocks and
walls and bellies books and knees
they are rare and humming, I will
honor them with rare humming.
I will kick over chairs I will do less
I am blossoming into flame
I am becoming what I am
I am singing in gratitude in
reverent orgasmic fear all the chakras
are singing and open and nothing
too open we hope not open to tears
but weeping on buffalo and tortoise
when necessary - to be seen but
not recorded, recorded but not seen,
a red sharpy underline of the fragility
the essential rarity of moments of song
of dance of not fixing, of doing
less, IT IS ALWAYS MORE AND
LESS than you expect and we
perform to grapple with that, to fascinate
ourselves with that, to continually evolve
NO LESS than dancing monks.
I dance for you, me, the door,
this fragile ephemeral body with sore neck
and tingling pussy and grateful belly, this
incredible power of the strong and fluid
joybody and the presence of new scars,
new ugliness that is indiscrete from beauty.
I applaud you, dancers of this moment,
I hide from you and reveal myself.
Performance is more an act of revelation
It is all water through a sieve
No gold is caught for long but
returned to the river.
I train bodies that decay, we feed to shit
we are trains to the ends of the universe,
going, smoking, loading unloading,
making balloons and popping them
there is nothing stopping us
there is everything always stopping us.
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