Disco

The dance floor,

the killing floor,

it’s all a dance of life and death.

My name is Dancer of Patience…

is that an oxymoron?

Never the less, I continue in the

linear timeline, other dimensions 

obscured by the limits of perception.

I’m governed by the vehicle I inhabit.

At least, I get to see in color.

I have the wherewithal to follow a path

to awakening, however much I’ve succeeded 

in seeing the world clearly.

How’s about you?

I wonder what they do with their lives.

I’ve seen some of them walking down the street.

The ones I know say hello, the others might smile

or nod…after all, this is Mexico.

People are friendly if one is not an Ugly American.

America is ugly right now…I’m glad I’m not there 

to share the chaos and ambiguity.

Change is the bane of the sheeple.

Wake up, it’s time to die, and be reborn into

a Golden Age?

Impossible to see right now because of the fog of war.

So I continue, precariously walking a tightrope until

the end of my days.

Plenty of people to thank, no one to blame.

I got where I am because of the help of others.

Don’t we all?

I was smart enough to not get caught in the traps of men,

a major victory, but it didn’t leave me much wiggle room.

There’s no rest in life, whether you’re good or wicked.

Things happen, one after the other, until the end.

I haven’t worked a job for over twenty years.

That doesn’t mean I haven’t been busy…unfortunately,

there’s no money in writing poetry…it’s my auto-da-fe.

Don’t cry for me, Argentina, it’s a waste of tears.

It’s getting better all the time.

I hope I’m finished before the finish line.

If not, there’s still the continuity of the discontinuity,

if you can make heads or tails of that.

My way of thinking is not original.

It comes from what all the masters said already.

I’m just repeating what I’ve learned from them to be true.

So, children, I hope you find your way through the morass

to a sunny day, sitting on the sidewalk.

I would welcome you sitting next to me.

I have a friend to laugh with about the foolishness 

of a world that doesn’t see.

Soon it may, and, at first, the repercussions won’t be pretty.

I may not live to see a newer, kinder world…that’s ok with me.

Moses didn’t get to the Promised Land, not that I’m a prophet.

I’m a mere Polonius, waiting for the stab through the arras.

Frankly, the whole thing is a pain in the ass, with occasional 

colorful balloons of delight. I’m what you call a cheap date.

I’m only continuing to sing in my chains, like the sea.