Sunday, June 23, 2013


On stage, I
Riff, I
Trip sure-footed o’er a sketchy framework stretched above
Abyss, no net
No notes
No fear
Confident in my ability
To slip, recover
Veiling minor gaffes with
Persiflage, some
Verbal slight-of-hand
Knowing that no matter how I divigate
I’ll stick the landing
Dead on time

Why not on the strip?
It’s a kindred act—Improv drawing on a
Repertoire of skills
Compiled aptitudes
Drilled until they’re
Practically innate

I need to graft my viva-voce assurance
Onto somatic challenges
Revel in an
Unrevealed solution
Trustful of my ad-lib creativity
My zombic intuition

Then perhaps my predatory dance
Liberated from its rigid choreography
Would transmogrify into unscripted creativity 

Drawing by SillyRedPanda

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