Twirl along the edge with me once more,

Avoiding the abyss of sentimental words.

Take my hand and walk me to the darkness

And lean in for once more kiss, one more hug,

One more gentle graze on my cheek and look

Into my eyes with that smile I fell for years ago

And whisper those diabetic sweet nothings

Before dipping me off the precipice again.

I chose something smaller —

The point of a pin,

Not its head.

I do my jig upon it —

My dance of life

And avoid my Achilles' heel.

Flesh can be penetrated

By the density of a point,

But immortals revel there, impermeable.

It is true, we angels exist preternatural,

Contraphasic, and irrelevant

To the laws of worldly physics.

In the times when all is fair,

All other considerations fall notches

In timeliness.

And the sages argue how many —

How many of us — can dance

On this acicular precipice,

While Constantinople

Falls to the Turks! But — praise the Lord:

Our angel-counting is accurate.

Dancing on a precipice,

too close the edge

where thrill and danger reside and intertwine on a dangerous ledge. The full-fledged

adventurous soul, finds insurmountable pleasure in seeking this thrilling excitement of the unknown.

Though, they may very well meet their end yet they persist with hearts ablaze. They cannot resist the adrenaline rush or the kick so they go all in with every step they take. It's a leap of faith, that's required, whether they realize it or not, they have some measure of faith that they'll see another day once their dance is done.

Embracing life's challenges, and dancing to the tune of thrilling uncertainty they bathe. This is the language of the adventurer's poetic quest where they dance on the precipice of life itself.

Give me your hand.

Bring me to the edge of that round goodness and dangle me over that edge.

Make me question if you will let

go.

Let the mystery of all things quiet if only for one song

where you gave me a chance to shine,

at the center of that great world that no one knows.

When the song ends, and shadows begin to creep and this round, good world seems to flatten, let me remember this moment when the world and I danced for what seemed like

forever.

I've been

with nightwatch

hatching

and with

early wormwood

that has its brindle

from the dirt

rising

in the morning

I'm on my

own senses

in the dim

interior

of mid afternoon

fluorescent cubicle

with the letter, legal, or ledger

filing sheets and post it stickies

searching by rote

for a song that echos

outside... of recollection

01.26.2024

Dancing on the precipice challenge @dctezcan

Dancing, swirling

Through an unending endeavor

Hanging on the slippery slope

Waiting for a quick pull of the lever

Will we fall, land on our feet?

Or spin infinitely into the vast universe

Perpetually echoing a fervent cry

For help to endure the very worst

This world is a hoax of twists and turns

A precarious balance of the unknown

Often murky, nothing is ever as it seems

In this life we so often bemoan

Still we trudge toward the destination

Onward through toils, tears, ice, and snow

Hope invades despite insidious despair

Driving, propelling though the step be slow

Precipitous for all that the end may be

We fight it with instinct borne in the wild

Endurance persists, taking firm root

As though, in this existence, we are beguiled

Beguiled, intrigued, and bewildered

With our many apprehensions

We stumble yet move, dancing forward

To the ultimate precipice of our ascension

Your sister lay on my lap

after we climbed the plateau.

She is sturdy but tired and

your flask hovers over her lips.

Your eyes are a deep, deep pond today,

searching the western horizon for clouds.

I stroke her hair as you once stroked mine

and her pale eyelids flutter with dreams.

The light is all shades of pink and

this is the type of place we would have danced.

I stop searching your face for comfort

and I whisper to your sister on my lap.

Don’t you know, little girl?

Your yes to one adventure

is a no to another.

Okay, so keep with me.

There was a doll made up of bits and bits of stuffing falling out and ratty cloth

And this doll, sad dull brown button eyes and all,

Was dancing rather solemnly on a garden wall.

So anyway, this tin man-

What do you mean I said doll before?

This tin man, only metal to feel, no heart or warmth at all,

Was searching for something

As he made his mechanical movements,

Slowly, oilessly, searching for moving parts where his were rusting and

This puppet had too many strings holding her, right?

I didn't say tin man, pay attention,

Follow me,

Keep following me.

So they dance and they dance in a little merry-go-round on this well where the only way out is down

And nobody to save them but

Common sense or gravity.

You'd think the reasonable thing would be to jump where it's 'safe', right?

Kiddo...

When are you gonna learn that there is no safe?

Everything is insane, we choose the madness that serves us!

So anyway,

I watched that lizard climb up up up,

Creeping slowly and lazily with purpose and none at all

And I watched it get to the top of that wall and I

Watched it

Jump without any cares- too many cares- all woes

Thrown away and I thought,

Did I just witness that thing try to kill itself or

Was that the coolest reptile I've ever seen?

Skydiving, parkour, what have you?

The thing to learn, the lesson to take away from this is nothing,

You were never really supposed to follow me unless you really really wanted to

Because I'm not here to be your guide, you are and I

Am mine.

Because I'm on my own precipice every day

And for every choice,

There's always more roads somewhere

With only magic and madness to follow...

Why stumble and tiptoe and be scared when you can

Plie and

Do da robot

And cut those strings

And maybe even fly?

Won't know unless you step on off that thing.

Life's a merry-go-round in a tiny bit of something surrounded by a sparkly endless abyss full of somethings.

Be a lizard, buddy.

We might come apart either way.

We'll come apart either way

I was

almost

conscious

when I

birthed you -

ginger,

fiery,

devoid

of love

and hate.

Taking,

taken,

free from

the care

of change.

It's always been about danger. You look around and the void doesn't scare you. How could it scare you when every inch of your being, from the hand your mother was the first to touch, to the bones you've repeatedly broken, are filled with nothingness? A complete, unvarnished emptiness. So you look out, not for yourself or any of life's discrepancies ready to tear you to shred. You just look out for everything else, all the meaningless statements we all get to witness from afar. On top of a building, after a day that consumed you a bit too much, for a bit too long. Or on top of a cliff, when the countryside air you're supposed to enjoy, isn't even enough to allow you to breath. What do you do then? When your lungs are empty, what should you scream? What is there to say to a void who won't listen? Well, maybe there shouldn't be any words! Maybe, they completed their purpose. What is the meaning of having a plethora of them, when no one is standing on the receiving end? So, when you're done listening, to the anger making your fists vibrate, or to the ineffable fear inhabitating your heart, you leave place for place itself. Our bodies, intangible structures that no two persons could describe in a similar manner. These perfectly broken silhouettes, forever filling up the void with space. Coming from a few twirls or some head shaking. How can you get shuttered when you're insatiable? When every little part of your being and imagination that you let hatred consume, is constantly reinventing itself? Dancing on a precipice. Ceasing the world by a faded sight while leaving for all to see an imperfect posture, in eternal movement.