Feed me!
the door says
And I come in.
The nest lies beyond
piles of tin and plastic
I look at it
forgotten cave etched with words
from old years of young change
My feet brush floors
of wet color, green and red
The air sizzles
on the skin of my arms
and the dance begins
In the room
the dancer swims
spinning, whirling, splashing
placental fluids out
into primeval greens and reds
into the hum of crickets
into black and violent enigma
The room leads
and I, unwilling but free,
move with it
The room moves me
and I move the room
Feed me! I shout.
The dance stops.
The door shuts.
And the room diminishes
into a pulse.
