My friend Hedgewitch says, write, even if you think it's crap. My horoscope in today's Detroit Free Press said the same thing. I might resist one of them, but never both. So I wrote.
BALLET AT LAKESIDE
I throw my bones out on the dark smooth surface of the water;
I say, "you are as hard and as pale as the one I love the best--"
My flesh no longer holds you;
My bleeding does not move you;
So I reject you,
And in so doing, can no longer stand.
I lie on the shore like a castaway or a starfish,
And my bones get up and dance--
White ghosts on the polished black floor in front of me.
I say, "you haven't any guts...they are not synonymous with hubris--"
But as long as the depths adore you,
As long as I care enough to lift my head and spit,
You, my bones, will glow in the emptiness
Like a shell thrown into the night sky by a dying gypsy
Already cooling in the light of a thousand stars--
And too proud to go dark without a dirty word and a wink.