I'm in a graduate workshop at the University of Missouri. This is my most recent word play for that class.
Drink, Dance.
You the loose-limbed, smooth
as finest liquor--
is not a well for redemption
a thing of sheer beauty?
My body imprints
the evanescent moment,
petty crime behind
the mask of divinity.
Your impeccable eye reveals
hero, pretender--myth
born from stillness. How can you
claim you do not see
God? If you have yet to experience
the remarkably sensuous,
warm your hands by my parable.
I am a shot of rum
on the table, a sonata
playing to an empty room.
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