your body hopes, it seems

when clearly hope's all gone

your body craves endorphins

your breasts, cunt, thighs cry out

for praise, pulse

throbbing sound

soft shifting lights

the things that make no good sense now

perhaps they never did

(of course before they didn't need to

didn't need to make good sense)

for sure they don't today

you can't afford it

can't afford in any sense

don't want it — how could you want it?

all alone, all miserable, all dead

so then you need it? need? is that it?

you've always loathed that narrative

navelgazers' neediness

those cunning/vile conflations

self-indulgent me-me taste

decked out as aching truth-torn need

so how can you go there?

(so, are you vile now, basely claiming need?)

how can you dance?

yet you're bending down

you're putting on your shoes right now

the shiny slidey solid kind

the kind that let you move

and soon you will be gone . . .

that's it, maybe, soon you'll be gone

you'll be gone soon

with music throbbing

or without

so why not with?

(so why not weep and dance?)