Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
This dance they do
it turns them into holy caricatures
the clowns proclaim that up is down
& the end justifies the beans
everyone drinks until they see
two of everyone
& their arms shake
unable to choose which
delightful lie to lay
& hey
this year even us USians can imbibe
because Carnival reaches
its riotous climax
on Super Tuesday
I live in an Appalachian hollow in the Juniata watershed of central Pennsylvania, and spend a great deal of time walking in the woods. Here’s a bio. All of my writing here is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. For attribution in printed material, my name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact me for permission to waive the “share alike” provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).
Well said!
It plays out every weekend downtown, the empty arms full of strangers flesh. They don’t even pretend to go for the music anymore, bouncing up and down to the hip hop drum beat that plays between every set, in every club and venue from high-brow to lower Broadway. Don’t go downtown much any more, and as much as I love live music, I have found myself dusting off my banjo, and that is certainly musically anti-climatic, a pale shadow of the possibilities.
A neat piece of dialectic.
Cady May – Yes, a little bit of that goes a long way, doesn’t it? I think it might be better if it were restricted to a few festive occasions in the course of the year – might make the random couplings and baccanals more special.