How I feel about these times. Anon.
I move my feet
I dance and dance,
up and down, up and down,
cannot stop.
The cares of the world
marionette me
all around and around
up and down, up and down.
I cannot exit.
The curtains never close.
Characters appear
and disappear.
They whisper,
point, direct,
shout, push.
Who is the stage master?
Who is the Stromboli?
Will they ever reveal
who they are and why
did they do this?
Pity me, poor fool—
dancing, dancing
up and down
and all around.
Originally published in Cactifur Magazine