Two poems, and a fundraiser
Photo by RDNE Stock project Hi ho, everyone. I was going to write something about Our Current State. But instead, you're getting poetry. Which, really, is better. The world is too much with us, and I'd rather here Triton blow his wreathéd horn. The young women dance The young women dance at the show, bodies lithe and limber, dancing as if they have no care in the world, the music washing over them and enveloping them in the swirl and whorl of the refrain. I watch them, smiling, remembering when I would have approached them, danced with them, bodies close, skin on skin, breath on breath, youth made all real. Now I have a wife, and children, and I would not trade them for the world. Dance, ladies. Revel in your youth. Savor your bodies. Know that that too shall pass, but so much is awaiting you beyond the dance. Another dance, no worse, no better, but delicious. Damascus Please. Spare me from Damascus. I do not need to be blinded and thrown to the ground. You, Sir, presume sham...
