A folding dance for a party

We're all dancing around this place
twirl and whirl and love love love curl
build each other up, spin each other around
tear each other down, take each other out
smile at the right times and maybe we can hang with stars
out on the edge there's a place called in the fold
that's where we want to be
together
unless you can't get there
then the rest of us will totally understand
see you next time, see you next time
or not?
it's a playful existence and it's a playful past and it's a play on words
that we think will last
stretched out, reaching, across the floor we cross our paths and cross our t's
and place them on crosses for all to see and turn the page whenever we please

We're all dancing around this place
twirrling and whirling and love love and twists
feed off each other, build each other up
We're all dancing around this place

A Preference for Cards

You know, not so long ago,things would get busy around this blog; real busy. Now It won't be long and all the posts with visible comments won't be on the front page.

Lost gospel. Caveman drawings. Scrolls.

Perhaps the past is always more popular than the present. The olden days are swiss bank accounts for nostalgia.

Write a poem
people read
some comment.
Sometimes clever
and others insightful.
Sometimes a poem
would bomb,
but we'd all move on.

Now I type out into ether
and
occasionally
I wonder where they all went.

A popular poet amongst poets cannot last.

Sooner or later
someone's despair
drips
onto
someone's melancholy

and the next thing you know they've all fallen like dominos.

That's why I prefer cards.

Christ, I hate cards.