masks courtesy of Fellini and Dali's child

take my hand
I'll take yours
and make it rough
so rough you'll cry out through the dip
the dance floor will pucker
it's parquet parlance
will falter beneath our footwork
the hem of your dress
winking at boy's envy
as my torn shredded shroud
skates behind
oh behind
so sweet and nice
with grins that break faces
snickers that chatter about
and make fault lines blush
the keys rapidly pounded
white and black
like sophisticated expression
of something that the sophisticates
will never know
except in the parlours
of lust's edge
thin and sharp in order to cut
but wide enough to dance upon
as the betrayed ploy and plot about
with whispers intended for no one's ears
and messengers knee high to nothing
carry them about
as baggage from curtained
study larks
singing in the night
to kings and queens
who sit there wondering who
the hell takes up their floor
and the night shimmies on
as if to say
"sexy mother fucker shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass"
the lark flies deep into the fields
the youthful mouths sewed shut
and the needles pressed to mouths of babes
makes the wardrobe sparkle more
God the ball was good
God the ball was good