Three Word Prompt: Dancing Through my Lonely Dreams

The art of dance is the art of the fall.

It's the trace of your face as you race down the hall

In grace you may trip, you may flip, dancers all

Though I never shall reach you, I'll turn when you call

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Locomotion may carry you down the canal

Past esophagi mould'ring at our bacchanal

You flow down to the attic, as, believe me, I shall,

Or fly up the abyss with the abbess Gran Mal.

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Here in limbo, we tangle, we leap, and we glide

Through the bunny-hop, leading to someplace inside

Of our minds or our hearts, where we let go and slide

Down the wall doused with portraits of those we deride.

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Take your boots off and drowsily lounge by the fire

You can sit this one out, dear. Just sit and respire,

For the dance grips the trotters we laud and admire.

Do those cried for remember or rebuff the crier?

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It is I, darling hoofer, who cries for you daily

In the morning, when I see you leaping so gaily.

Oh! I cry out in pain, strumming my ukulele:

Don't forget me, Marie!

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It floats back to me grayly.