Circling pairs first at their station
break, prey on their own creation:
unbidden soon truth is showing,
bloody drops are freely flowing.
What wicked tango short begins
as quick we see that purpose spins
now gliding in a crimson flight,
vampiric etching breeds delight
with each dash, turn and madcap cross
exclaiming loud all work a loss.
Rewrite this dance, compose anew:
else this, and more, you’ll fast undo.
(Note: This is based on a draft for an old poem that I’ve largely rewritten. What started as a meditation on one topic has ventured off into something remarkably different. Though the idea still remains, I’ve transformed it. Strangely, I don’t know if I prefer this version to the original. All the same: publish, publish, publish.)