Set List
Sometimes I wonder about unquiet slumber.
We would pen set lists, pick the numbers
imagine all those pushing punters casting off
from the world’s edge to command centre
primordial stoop then standing tall,
and gyrate beneath the glitterball,
right hands raised, clutch cosmic waves,
dance counterclockwise while records played.
From that quiet earth, new thoughts of birth.
Your coffin withdrew in gay ribboned hearse
over hills and faraway, pale drapes closed over
from inside centre to the far world’s edge,
from our giant strides to feeling small,
until we were hardly ever there at all,
picked white bass guitar, thumbs and wrists,
mislaid a smile but recalled an old set list,
wondered what you’d make of lives I kissed.
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