On pointed pedestals revolution stands,
Pressing into the earth with ballet flats,
A heady weight, a pen poised
Spilling steady ink into
A papyrus eternally unfurling.
Colors soar, sounds burst,
And all around us busts fall –
A thundering pulpit wrings out ancient dust,
Glinting in the golden curtain
Gleaming out in light fog,
Melting and mingling to humming bass.
Ass-pressed and feet-kissed, the stage
Hardens a pool of sweat, shimmering –
An inked sea from bodies for bodies,
Freedom’s liquidity, spoken from dancer’s pen,
A thunderbolt shot from booming speaker-brow,
Olympian majesty alights the scene
Soothing the enthrallingly electric.
Like an arrow flying through atom-streams of old,
Our flying dancer leaps over crumbling column,
And with easeful step ignites its material
Into a sparking, effervescent lantern
Held in the hurtling air by nature’s murmur,
A breath gentler than words, whispering
True beauty and freedom – in ecstasy,
In theater, in time.