When I try to write the music of life
time rushes by cruel and relentless
producing a cascade of stars that whirl
around the mezzo forte of should we say
carousel? But that would be too much
of a cliche. So I try to write the music
of a moving image, a cavalcade of bodies.
Beginning the new day with one version
in my mouth, the other up my ass, while
egg shells crack under the pressure
of my feet crashing down on the floor,
as I move, one black foot and one white,
& my black head and white body merge.
Dorothy A. Friedman