I am dancing
like a mad woman
about poetry.
My feet beat the ground
To
recall the rhythm of Whitman
And
of Billy Collins
And
of Lazarus
digging his
own grave
My feet beat the ground
As
I liberate papers from piles
And
sort them elsewhere
Under arbitrary
adjectives
And
for an arbitrary assignment
I am dancing
like
a mad woman
about
poetry
to
recall rhythms
and
to write my own verse
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