Lazy last days lengthened by lamp at night.

Unveiled eyes see all my secrets.

Sounds permeate each stanza and each thought in my head.

They dance and touch and embrace and kiss.

There is a long looping lace that ties the boot shut.

The Olympic flame symbolizes the struggle, the burning desire for “truth and beauty” in every step of the race.

No propaganda, no censorship, no violations of the human spirit will be tolerated here.

Crassness, overbearing prose and self indulgence are stated as clearly as a poet can.

Many claim rights or make proclamations.  Some elude to provocative and pornographic images.

None can claim they have won the race.

For all are invited next spring, where a feast on words and sound will cultivate image and more wit or feeling than any old Apocalypse.

Let’s bury our sorrow in song and dance.

Let’s celebrate with recitals and readings.

Til next year then or the next poem whichever comes next.

Ode to the unabashed, the unashamed, the encumbered, the unsustained.