deepundergroundpoetry.com

moma dance

 Never, Ever
trust a poet
  who cant get pussy.
 
  were not the dried skins of animals
      pulled tight over hallowed wood,
      and prodded until,
           the rhythm found,
           made the women dance?

yes,
  what other genesis
  is necessary
    once the women dance.

every syllable studied,
   and placed exactly,
      conjures nothing
          no nothing at all,
   if not excited to spiral
       that sleeping serpent
           coiled at spine,
       that once sprung,
   makes the women dance.

before and after,
    the dichotomy,
    and the prudence
       disguised as intellect
    and the weights
    and measurements,
       of anthropology,
    will remain,
    that first moment
       in which
       the women danced.
   
   
             
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