Originally posted 2013. Many revisions later…
My dance, my bad, my deep.
Gave a sorrow opening,
loosed it on the gap within, and now:
ornery. Tantrum. Layabout and cry.
Going to victim the whole long day; go pick me
some kudzu, funeral bouquet for a grief show.
Still, I still have rocker hips, roller hips, jazz
groin and lips and hips. Joy ends up somewhere
when pushed from head and heart…thus,
I’ve ended up one sad grinder. End up bad.
Bad, sinking in deep but still, there’s
one way to set it off and hold it back,
so I’m off to music while still in the hole.
It gives my bad and my deep a resistance.
Gives them rhythm, digging in under the roots;
rubbles my dark village,
quake cracking, flipping dirt
into the light.
When I, frightened, shake,
I still gotta dance my dance,
my bad, my deep;
dance even if
I dance sad.
It’s my gotta happen.