Friday, 11 May 2012


Body and voice seem hunted
throughout a haunting performance.
Sometimes a song,
a joke and song,
an instrument, song.

Sweet and strange
to tip-up as dancers
(not minotaurs)
but as people from streets
with hands and prints

and, here and hopeful, an older man,
teenager spinning, a green
moment, lifting red
to blue; lifting them selves,
us, up, up and up. You’re on – you’re up.

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