Uncle Bob's Words

Words, poetry, stuff like that

Dancer, go!


As the years increase,

I vow to make a last-ditch effort

To ignore the growing fatigue,

The hypertension, the fear.


A hoper,

A dope-high dreamer,

Failing to note the flicker

In this fantasy verité

And that sheer opacity ahead.


Dancer, go!

Fuete forever…

Bald head gleaming in the light,

The black light that glows your bridgework,

Distracting from the faulty steps.


Only you, there

In the audience,

Stand to applaud my effort.

Heeding none but me,

And the dance that was just for you.

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