Wednesday, 30 December 2009
"If you danced from midnight to six A.M.
who would understand?
The runaway boy who chucks it all to live onthe Boston Commonon speed and saltines, pissing in the duck pond,rapping with the street priest,trading talk like blows, another missing person,would understand....Once this king had twelve daughters, each morebeautiful than the other.They slept together, bed by bed in a kind of girls'dormitory.At night the king locked and bolted the door .How could they possibly escape?Yet each morning their shoes were danced to pieces.Each was as worn as an old jockstrap.The king sent out a proclamation that anyonewho could discover where the princesses did their dancingcould take his pick of the litter.However there was a catch. If he failed,he would pay with his life.Well, so it goes....Next came the ball where the shoes did duty.The princesses danced like taxi girls at Roselandas if those tickets would run right out.They were painted in kisses with theirsecret hair and though the soldier drank from their cupsthey drank down their youth with nary a thought."Anne Sexton