Friday, April 8, 2011

On Dancing

As Patchenga plays their version of a Caribbean-Latin groove
I make smooth moves by which the eye is soothed
with my internal pilot I navigate through the valley of the octaves
Spelunking while petty dunking, exploring the caves filled with notes

I am lost in my own Eleusinian mystery
Will Orpheus send a girl to kiss me?
The squares sit in the high legged chairs
or else they stand and stare.
Their glasses are full of mixed drinks
Their minds are empty sinks

But I follow the beat of my hidden drum
A musician calls out with his fife
take away this musket!
Give back my undiscovered life!

Listen and feel loose when another plays the pipes of pan
we all dance to the bass guitarist named Stan
They glance at me with their deadly smiles
but in some I see looks of guile
Tom and Angel say “dont be like Marvin,
The paranoid android, created by Douglas Adams”

But I say there are people waiting for their chances
to go at me with their sharpened lances.
Because I am not caucasian some grimace
and internally question my right to existence.
I don’t want to end up like Othello, he became a very sad fellow.
There Shakespeare told a sad story; he never bores me.
Though I am sure that if not for Desdemona some would have found it comic
And laughed like in The Merchant of Venice
But Macbeth died with glory even though his deeds were one vast gory orgy

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