the time of disco

In the time of disco,
not to long ago

Dancing found its own
way home. Prancing singers
felt their way

through the air, claiming
nothing, but being
itself.

Stretched thin, and worn tired the fray of
their jeans, reading, making more poetry than

wearer's lips ever could.

Dirty feet and clean smiles,
brought wearer's hunger
close, and

friends closer-to a quiet dream
that wouldn't last.
The fray knew

of the dream slayer,
and the Sun so rumered,

so they took what drugs they could
to stay thin-

teaching, screaming at
their wearer's
to wake. To change and give

them rest. But the dancing feet screamed
louder than Joe Cocker ever could.

And the Wearer's turned 30
and went home.