The Dancing Plague of 1518
I am headless in morning, so ask me to dance.
And it’s simple, I never relapse. I admit
it was me who once broke all the stars. Yes, I wrote
the last word. But I really don’t understand why
Shania Twain had no last shred of self once I was done
with her. All man I feel I have no bones. Like worms
in labs, heads having been removed, who dare still move
as lacking nothing. What we lack is little more
than it all. As in Strasbourg, how hundreds did dance
without rest. And the boiling still deep in the streets:
find once-ice. Long past vendors of nicotine, bread,
through the throng. And four-hundred more join. Do not look
at how all bodies fall to earth and meet the God who moves
them. Better become child again. Let limbs be shaken off.
themselves and grab the un-denying. Shania
(the Queen) knew just what she was doing over me.