Poetry. Art. And everyone comes out to dance,
some joyful and uninhibited, like rabbis in a ballroom bar mitzvah,
whirling dervishes, fingers snapping to the beat of the music,
feet flying, and age-old knees making the moves,
wordless until the music ends,

some come out of hiding like shy turtles or sad widows,
cautious lest the beauty and the beast of life breathes too hard,
take the time to be here now with the sentences and spaces they share,
in deference, take off your cynical hat
and ask them to waltz

just say the words, and the fight begins,
three rounds, four minutes on the clock,
tattoos and fists flying, egos galore,
blood and clinches, the Peruvian necktie, not used enough
screaming fans and referees wearing latex gloves,
trainers and coaches yelling advice from the sidelines,
sometimes in other languages

just say the words, and someone wants a definition,
someone wants more, someone wants less, someone wants
to help Poetry and Art,
as if they are in need of help, like a failing marriage,
an addict, or a stranger in a strange land.
Just say the words
Just say the words
Just say the words
Just say the words

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