Away the horizon’s grips to the brilliance that defines the contours
of the fantasies, the dreck- the limitless new word unspoken, the blunt force
trauma of counting, wishing, opposing- of being opposed, denying the wish, skipping the count.
On with the colors of the day clung to, sharp shadows and peripheral lovers,
found in flame, the filament; a gas-lamp, open window, radio glow.

I sense a billion of you underthrust beneath waves of harmonics
dialing across bands of music made from the songs of captured long-ago stars-
no matter what, your muscles ease- your eyes soften- in a blue second yours is the impossible,
finding the hidden frequency, the secret station that parts lips in a wind’s kiss.
We all fall into private minutes of symphony, if only for now, for this.

Night is the medium, little else dances on the edge of the skull
for when we are worn, it is the bone that sings and teases our slump upright
as too will it collapse to a hymnal of dust

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, rhymes and remembrances, tune in- it’s this one here.
This is the one I can’t resist as the dreams tug the electricity out, listen friends,
they’re playing my tomorrow… blue to purple to sky of music.

Even when I’m not dancing, I’m dancing, dance with me, you billions…
You billions, dance with me, I’m dancing, even when I’m not dancing…