wait
listening to the old songs
moving when we were
moving so slowly just to stand still
moving as slow as glass pours years
eyes shut as tight as breath allows
the third eye crying how could we
something something something
forgotten now what it was
other than the ache we had for it
it it it
drips as a net at a damp window
nets the cold night’s ineptitude
looking for that chink of light
through those curtained days
around and around looking
for something we would not recognise
if we ever found it
and yet the music incanted that it
did exist somewhere this something
the others dancing knew
didn’t they
and why if they did
didn’t they say
didn’t they tell me
no matter how the music spoke
the language was foreign even
as the beat beat it into me
wait
wait
wait
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