black electric
caught, on the corner of old market, where printers lifted pints in ink black hands, dancing in the street; still jetlagged and on the puppet strings of two hours' sleep.
i felt like a boiling mix of neon tar and guinea corn syrup had belched out of the planet and rushed my veins through, gumming me to the pavement and firing its sweet mash up into my brain. there was music (i remember hearing it, the way children in botswana hear the distant memory of bluegrass. and i danced,
synapses firing lollipop grin instructions i hadn't made,
right arm shoulder twitched & span right wrist
a whispered lick of metronomes,
forth round and back and the people stared but i had that homeless loon small, knowing and insouciant smile.
i was black electric
i didn't care
some music held me for a second and i danced, shooting trouser cuff one leg
rolling shoulders & looking at one cloud in the sky. cars were pulled up obedient dog at the traffic lights and their drivers watched,
i didn't care. they caught me, dancing in the street and looking at one cloud; my collar and
my dander both
markedly
right
up.
