Danika Dinsmore
commute
what we were / snake-like into exhaust of cloud / one emerging one / we rotate ideas /
formalize speech into excuse / maintain the troupe because we are individually contradicting /
bi-polar politics plague the defrost mode / always news, morning / wake from inert story /
each and every day-birth jabs sharp hooks and uppercuts / use language we don't understand /
gobble each other's art / rediscover our social significance / make decisions by background music /
we study each other's ghosts / said what's said done what's done said what's done done what's said /
no retracting experience / big is as big as it gets:
sometimes is goes sometimes it stays sometimes we get stuck
light the fire I light the fire we light the fire the fire the fire roar
we sit in our commute like yin yangs like cat-tails caught in an
overblown charge
we lick the fire roar we like the fire roar we fire
there is a maiden at the door, but only when the fire is lit
maiden dancing in thick flames
410,000 more faces in our mourning words in our insignificance we label
commute
our traffic roar roar
can we love and push love and push in the roar can we light and douse,
purr and ponder our own deafening disappearance our own
definite disappearance, we are snow into the ground
we construct to burn, burn to freeze, freeze to look once at a moment
we chew the flame, chose the flame, chose the tools we turn and throw
we authorize the weather, dictate breath, program the ashes of
put another log on
put another face on
Lay on the horn, lick the window, cry, don't cry, don't run away
our lullaby, we forgot, our ring-around-the-rosary
our late night shadow man in the dream forest or is he in our dankest
closets? he's in our closest blink, his voice through the flame
roar through
the cold ceiling, hypnotizing air & catching us off balance
drive-by shooting star flares and shores, chilly step away & we wrap up,
wrap up and pretend to dance like the flame in our eyes
head full of webs and trinkets with sharp edges that sting and cut we don't want to be cut we want to stay warm
we don't want to get up we want to become statues of ourselves
numb
Copyright © 1996 Danika Dinsmore
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