feel the vapor pressure drop as the dark

steam pours out the entrance. real cold world is

swirling into a club that keeps the

real life world out. where every sense seems deathly

weak from the frozen time you spent in transit.

the glass danse world flickers on and the

low end thaws your anxious body.



maybe i feel detached. i may just look to shy

its a disinterest not that i'm a timid guy.

i call them bodies but, they are attentive too.

i feel the social glare, i feel the attitude



watch as mirrors clear themselves with the

breath of frigid air that eased in.

made up babies all rotate as a siren

spins a beam of amber. time sliced beat

by beat in a row, in a club,

in a line, in the city.



the glass danse world

flickers on because the cycle happens enough:

a baby falls out warm. it's screaming for it's life.

an infant tries to danse as it grows up then dies.

that's simplified but uh . . . when you complexion dries.

you wake up cold and think. you wish it'd been this way.