stage experience

The dancer pulls the curtain
and rips it from the rings
all during a spin and I,
the crowd, vomit an
uproar-hear this
from the deli where the coffee
pours like puddle water but
tastes like mother's sauce.

When the dancer made a step
and cranked the triggered heel,
cocked it to the universe
so the ozone cried and I kissed her bandage
then hit the dirt
like a hijacked ferry,
the wreckage spilt and trickled
navigating the veins of the earth
the shock sent a little ripple
up my back, though from this
I only stood inches.

Flags wrap her paper mached,
tapered strands graced in wind
generated by movements generated by
guts encouraged with this soul
knowing the body is a mess
and in all cases I love the filth
and waking to find the dirt
beneath my fingernails