dust

to dance
like the bones
don’t ache

to run
with the speed
of a panther

to laugh
with the abandon
of a child

to work
and play
and love
as if
I cannot fail

to sleep
like the dead
and dream
as the mystics do

this is how I wish
to spend
the days and nights
before returning to dust

(D. James)

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seen art

Dancers move in minutia
mocking the audiences limbs

Little man bangs his head
against a bell
at random

the sound echoes
through the staid museum

In a large room
marionettes do a mechanical
danse macabre

their tiny metal feet
tapping rhythmically on
the wooden floor

We are left
sitting in the corner
wondering why this is all
so mesmerizing

(D. James)