We've got to do something about this music.
Dancing becomes the acquisition of daredevil glances,
feet smack rhythm all the way down to foundation
pushing music into woodwork.
Out in the yard our bodies dream in cartwheels,
leaving footprints sprawled across the milky sky,
the hours pass us by like motorcycles in the HOV lane.
We awoke just in time
for the morning to leave us behind.
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