sometimes there’s a yearning. often. sometimes
the need hits too strong to submerge – you must
have a companion for your present debauch:
morality does not figure in. No
judgement -that is, condemnation, anyway –
can touch the drunken, dancing sufi self.
you dance and sing and no word is profane;
you sing your song and dance life’s dance – profound
and sacred because it is by Spirit
demanded of you! for survivals’ sake
you dance and drink and revel, writing lines
in zen sands gone, gone with a sudden draft
sideways of creation . . . its fulfillment
and in the morning grief feels like remorse.

dmpitchford 12/04/23