revised version or act 2
Just say the words, poetry, art, and a thousand people jump,
dance like the devil, cast their votes upon the water,
Just say the words and we, the poets and the artists come out,
cautious lest the beauty and the beast of life
becomes entwined with machine, reason and practical factual information.
All are just as real, just as fragile, just as fraught with misunderstanding.
Just say the words, with a flourish, Bruce Buffer-style, and the fight begins,
three rounds, five minutes on the clock
tattoos, fists and foreign words flying, egos galore
screaming fans, referees, trainers, paladins and literati.
Take the time to be here now with the sentences and spaces we share.
In deference to a new decade, take off your old hats and Peruvian neckties
and ask us to dance a new dance.
Just say the words, and someone wants a definition,
someone wants more, someone wants less, someone wants to assist poetry and art,
as if they are in desperate need of help, like a failing marriage, a hardened heroin addict,
a perfectly capable person in a wheelchair, or a stranger in a strange land.
Don't say the same words.
Don't say the same exact words.
What if the words were replaced with numbers,
code and cadence, other Worlds, politics or explicit sex?
Would a thousand people take the time to cast their bread upon different waters?