The Warriors: an imaginary ballet in three parts

By | 1 December 2011

Fiction leads through factual composition to an
arbitrary place of free delight—at the end of
such an arc is Mr. Percy Aldridge Grainger,
slapping his knees and humming through the
beat. Throw caution over the house and it
might bounce back in protest. Throw it twice
and meet me on the other side.

Your doctrine was to be honest always—to
document the truth or else the truth would
never out. To this effect you locked the
message in. I pick up scraps of information and
throw them on the preservation pile ignite
the match for a brief ungraspable illumination.
Feel these rhythms, too complicated for human
. This is how we dance—you and
I—slightly, without pause

In a nutshell with a mallet
upon my curves and
louden lots bit by bit
zigzags fair
the two of us against the world
is technique
blood be my thigh
so nearly faultless
my walls

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