awake, awkward stumble ontwo feet.
blessed balance, the wait for, too long.
confused collaboration, and the hate of frustration.
deliberate destruction of
entire elaborations, considered.

clumsy silhouette not so much dances
as

fumbles, fortress penetrated by laughter.
gregarious goings-on of
hyper-happy, chemo-phillic fellows
in ice stumbling to the tunes of eager changes.
jolly juxtapositions.

slippery pirouettes, hot, slow; but meaningful
as

kiped killers'
motivations.  muscles tensed, and
nothing's new to old news,
open, only to the jaded whose
quests, quenched long before, are lonely.

fortuitous never-mets, but oh such beauty.
as

undulating undergarments and a
very voluptuous
wife, whose only wish was
sleep.
The People Who Talk Backwards on Snowy Nights...