This is a stage to dance on.
And I am armed with time today.
Dali’s watch melts across my wrist.
And the stars witness.
And the city lights beckon.
Some one could see a fool on a hill,
outlined by light.
No one could see.
But this is a stage to dance on.
This is a place to put feet in orders of combination.
To flash hands as if they were wings of blood.
Recipes of even funnier children to come.
To yearn for a more amusing offspring.
Dances of youth singing songs on an even higher stage.
This is a stage enveloped by a circular purple glow
that morphs into black.
A light sprinkling of salt in the skies of space.
A salty blood for a man with feet on a magic stage.
