Look at the poet on the dance-floor
Appreciating the beat, awed by the moves
Hypnotized by the way the light hits the gin soaked boy
Look at him – beer fizzing out in his warm hands
Aware of alienation
Of possible assimilation.
The fool is here to collect it.
The strobe diffuses, in him it infuses.
The liquor helps, but is not necessary
As he gingerly moves an inch
So you can dance the dance of liberation.
Sweaty bodies grinding against strangers in the dark,
And the idiot is still thinking in metaphors.
It is hard for the artist to fall in love with details
He is committed to the big picture.