dancing in the sun

 I'm watching
sun stains on the ceiling
through my fingers:
they tremble and vibrate
they dance 
and change their shapes

when I finally get up
I tremble and vibrate
too
maybe from far away
you could mistake it
for a dance

my contours
can no longer hold
my own shape
they break
and fall to the ground
as in a slow motion
as if they were feathers

sun sets
and the shadow
swallows my room
and covers
my sadness
and my shame

when I walk to the door
I sway
and move 
to the music
I can't hear
I look at my feet
and I can almost
convince myself
that I'm dancing

tarantism

tarantism (df): overcoming melancholy by dancing; the uncontrollable urge to dance

it's a noise

inside my head

and if I could still speak

I would sang

together with it

instead I bite my lip

and move downwards

my own spine

dextra

sinistra

my arms extend

I extend into both

directions

I become

a big

black bird

with sad biddy eyes

and no song

at all

my fingertips

draw fractals

around me

I am the epicentre

I am the source

I am the explosion

I sway in the air

and move frantically

only not to fall

because I know

it could

break me

(I'm made

out of china

I have

no glue)

I dance.