your feet are over
top of glass, like porcelain,
painted blue and expanding
over the world. You break
your toes, so you can dance better. The
theatre applauds. ‘Maybe one day, we
can get out of her’ ‘Later, fella, for
now we got to pirouette’ the sash around
your waist is red and it unfurls over
top of your eyes. ‘now, please, can
we leave’ ‘Later, buster, first we’ve
got to pistolet’ The glass breaks and
an audience member shrieks. ‘have me
moved past the future yet?’ ‘Come on sport,
there’s an ocean with a philosemite’