You are the dancer,
cursed with a strength that captivates
and culminates
(transitively, it culminates)
in the terrible tombés that flourish
and the grand-jetés that soar
(transitively, they flourish
and soar).
But when your crowd rises
to their sleepy feet, I would
hook you aside
and furtively dole
these recycled words:
“You look like you scared
of hurting the floor. Cling
with peenkie toe like
you are cat. And
tighten butt,
jellyfish.”
wrote that for someone. not happy with that someone. happy with what i wrote.