A disco ball gleams, an eye
of God, and I’m reflected
thousands of times, tiny
in squares until I can’t breathe,
drowning in the sounds of bass
I mistake for my heart. The other dancers –
my shadows, come closer to, then farther
from me, sprayed out in the strobe
lights, pressing me in and out of two
times, two worlds. My face I remember
from this morning behind a fog of
breath in the bathroom
mirror, and the bar-
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3 comments:
ooo i like it
dounia
wannabeactress2.blogspot.com
very elusive and msyterious, i like it
I love this poem too. This poet is well worth reading--the book is called "Boy with Flowers".
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