DANCER

I pull warm words out from my pocket
splattering them on yellowing leaflet pages
– a literary Jackson Pollock:
I stand over my canvas,
let the brush dance and fill the floor
with a series of pirouettes and pliés.

Do you think the crowd will love me?

If so, litter my feet
with round, red roses
– but please,
remove the thorns.

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3 thoughts on “DANCER

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