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Be my dance

Be my dance

Beneath my feet my dance

Beneath my feet my words are eating my dance

Beneath my feet something stirs and I stare and say words that are stray like the widows who are eating my dance

Beneath the ice there are beginnings that began and ended and began again and my feet are cold because of the ice or because something stirs me like you never stirred me and I stare at ice in the freezer and chip at it so we can have iced drinks and say words that are stray like the dog we never rescued from the churchyard like the widows who keep knocking at our door to sell us windows because everyone can see into our hearts and everyone tells us there are whispers who are eating the ease out of our dance or their dance or my dance and when I stop moving you say I’m becoming alone and almost a widow and mustn’t ever dance but mustn’t ever not move

Beneath stares words like windows dance

Be stale wince

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About michaeleganpoetry

Liverpool based poet and editor. I have had four pamphlets of poetry published, most recently After Stikklestad (Knives, Forks and Spoons Press, 2010). Penned in the Margins published my first collection, Steak & Stations, in 2010.

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