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.

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