Wolcott Productions, 1958
Watch the dragon priestess dance,
aware in the passion sense
she celebrates the god she sees,
spasmodic as at a party on the beach.
“Dance,” she says. “Dance!”
An orgy of motion erases what stories
fur-clad forms were drawn to tell.
Bodies shake, twist, pulse like pricks
in the endgame. Omoo, ginger princess,
sates lust from her knees. Holy,
holy: bacchanal of forgiveness prayers.
I savor my times observing from distance
a woman boogying when she feels it,
wears the music like a tender pair of hands.
Here, it’s more like eavesdropping
from outside the confessional,
close enough to hear the guilt,
repentance & release, yet not
in time for the nitty-gritty,
so nothing like a story’s in the way.
– Ace Boggess