YOU CANT DANCE
But I Can Write
These words keep dancing
Out of my brain
On the inside of my skull
Then filter through my ear
Like
Ants exiting an ant hill
Then march down my arm,
Pausing to tickle my elbow
Then take giant leaps across my wrist
As deer leap in fields
And exert a force on my fingers
That makes me write them down.
They don’t care that they aren’t graceful dancers.
They do it anyway.
Inventory
A painting from a roman vendor
A Darth Vador mask
Red nail polish
Balloon animal instruction book
A stool created in woodshop without instructions
A book of poetry
A box with thread
2010’s senior pictures and open house invitations
an Archie comic book
a red purse
a yellow plastic duck
a beaded journal
2 different yellow nail polishes
a peacock feather
a tea cup from a Canadian
45’s and 78’s
an autographed rock
mini squirt gun
various amateur art
venetian mask
a blue cartoon stuffed mouse
running shoes
fedora
lady’s gloves
record player
bouncy ball
dry erase marker
jacket
2 photography books
valentine’s card
plaid belt
urban dictionary
transformers backpack
pocket knife
Calvin and Hobbes
Tacky sweaters
Pretty dresses
Magnifying glass
Giant pencil
Perfumed pottery from Orvieto
Retainer
Popped bubble wrap
Breakfast at Tiffany’s poster
Playbills
A girl.
The Extras
Pay attention to the supporting characters
Forget about the lead
He gets all the attention
He could ever need
Take a look at the one in the back
Not important at all
Look how well they fit their part
Right there, his name is Paul.
We see Paul as he walks by
Wishing he was the lead
A tear in his eye
But he doesn’t cry
Hardly noticed amidst the stampede
But if he weren’t there
Where else would we stare?
After watching the movie five times?
He added so much
With that tear of a touch
At the value of a dozen for dimes.
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