Sonnet XIII.
If I were to whatever forever
while cinematic backgrounds still play on,
no one, not one person whatsoever,
would listen to me or my mellotron.
Maybe if I strip naked, dance in time,
and paint my skin a deep orangish tint,
be naughty with water pistol and slime,
pepper them with glitter and navel lint,
then maybe, just maybe, they will react
just a little, a flickering eyelid,
or a flinch just at the point of impact
and we'll see the light of life hint amid
re-awakening eyes unzombified
to dance the dance they were always denied.
Poetry 365 