Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Silver Dance

Like the curling smoke of a filter-less cigarette
held askew in a loose and contemplative hand,
I embrace this Silver Dance again.
Letting go, becoming smaller and smaller.

How many times face down on my bed,
into this half lit workshop,
assimilating disarray through the haze.
My temple of regeneration,
claiming the music and power that is no regret.

Remind me again Blowers Daughter
why I’m dangerous?

Is it because I can see the rain in a rainbow?

Or because I refuse mindless emulation
as the face of happiness?

Is it my next poem, dark tattoo,
or my Jack London night that scare you?

Bone cold and bare,
the collision of car with an innocuous oak.
Laid out broken on blood stained snow,
my diminishing vapors rising above me
through the naked branches
 in a Silver Dance
into a black vacuum of space beyond.

Before letting go completely the universe voiced
‘There are things worse than death.
Choose life and journey with meaning’

A photon gift, years in the making,
 under the harshest of terms,
taught me that patience and stillness 
penetrate the dread and blackness.

That breath of blissful living 
is whispered in a Silver Dance, 
moving in silence through cherry blossoms 
of the mind and passionate heart.

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