July 19, 2016
I run this way and that, keeping time to the dangled tresses lapping over my mind's stage, my eyes stay riveted to the gyrations in no body's glove. I see what I want to see, I feel accordingly; the heavy and light are in my hands to shape as I want. The stage is bare. I keep it that way. It is for my pleasure alone. The dancers are mine. I keep them safe. I hold them under the stage. They say nothing, till I bid them speak, and when they speak, they dance. When they dance I come alive.