Inspired to the hidden dream we all have inside of us to go out in a splendid flash before we die, because everyone deserves that flash at least once.

The Illiterate in Iambic Pentameter

Waltzing through the hordes
of ballerinas and businessmen,
I find myself lost.

where am I?
is the poignant question
as I wander and
glimpse fragments of life;

catching cutouts of song
and snippets of cardboard,
I dance through the crowds
of suits and sluts.

who are you?
is what brings to mind
that last night before I lost myself
in the continuous wave
of firefighters and foremen.
I was on the floor, the hordes
of ballerinas and businessmen
parted for me and I was on top of the world
for only a few moments.

I danced with the Devil.

We slowed circled in a fragile minuet,
resplendent in shadows
and tangoed down Main Street,
flashing legs and shoulders
at the pedestrians and pediatricians,
corrupting the passerby
with infectious
Desire like fire
coursing through their veins
and burning away the taint of
medication and murder.
All the while, stopping traffic with out beauty.

Ever since then I have been lost.
I went insane while I danced
and I can't quite recall,
but I sold my soul that night.

And I can't find myself willing to care.

The apprehension and anticipation
almost too much
to clear my clouded head.

I looked at the Devil
straight in the eyes and saw Hell.
I'm not afraid,
I wasn't prone to cowering,
but I saw the truth.
let the truth bring you to justice!
they called,
all the jugglers and janitors,
and so it did.
because now I know time can't ever be turned
back. While I danced, time just

slipped away,

little grains of salt falling through my
open fist
into wounds that will never heal.

I danced with the Devil
and came out above the hordes
of ballerinas and businessmen,
forever doomed to be lost.

The best night of my life,
I died.

Going out flashy with
fireworks and flashlights
has always been my aspiration.

the exalting rush more powerful,
more potent,
than the hope of heaven,
just too far gone to see the light.

halos of light aren't attractive among the crash
of missiles and missionaries.

and maybe that's why I took His hand
what seems so long ago,
the bittersweet memories long mixed with
a tinge of forbidden desire,
so much so that I am
hopelessly lost among the hordes
of ballerinas and businessmen,
forever doomed to be