Shattered

My world is shattered. Isn’t yours?
Don’t you walk on shards of broken glass?
Each step painful and bloody?
The taste of sweat and tears, salt and salt
Teasing your tongue?

Forgive me if I add an extra step here and there.
A little rhythm, a little move of hip or arm.
Don’t call it dancing.  Don’t – whatever you do –
Call it ritual.  Just let me move – on.

Yes of course my world is shattered.
Yours too, right?

(c) 2003

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