There are some days
where despite myself
I just don’t want to dance.
I don’t have it in me
to put on the shiny shoes
and the tightened shirt
and move my ass on the lacquered floor
until my sweat and my blood are mingled
all beneath everyone’s feet.

It is simply not my wish
every night
to take on the responsibilities of Bacchus
or Terpsichore
or whoever the fuck –
look, there’ll be no dancing this night.
Not for me.

I’m down for a movie.
Or a song.
Or even a conversation,
but my toes are not ready for any more action.
It’s time for a break.