A Poem by Lance Sheridan

the visibility of the dance

she peeled back layers of his life and put them
in green jars with tarnished lids

sat them on faded, warped boards with rusted
nails and carpenter ants

left them forgotten on a porch where a broken
kitchen window awaits

a repair, where he once carved her initials in
a dying oak, birds no longer

nest for fear of falling; the corner of wood on
a swing brushes her footprints

in sand and a memory, her laughter painted
flowers and bees in flight

to hives in secret corners of forests; there,
they heard as they made love

warm breeze glided over nakedness and
lust, sun rays pushed aside

leaves to create shadows on moist soil,
her screams echoed

just like her passion for dance, more than
her passion for him

in ballet, in a pirouette, he tried to embrace
was jilted, dragged

himself into a bar and drank her away on
shots and dirty whiskey glasses

half stoned, sat in the back of a bus and
old seats; got off by a river

walked a bulkhead in acid rain and an
unshaven face; one foot

then one foot, into garbage and debris
hanging onto stagnant water

one less breath
one less breath…

Lance Sheridan—

Published writer—Bits and Pieces to Ponder/Self-Help/2002 

Published poet—Poet Interview on November 8, 2012 by a Salisbury University Journalism Major/Salisbury, MD; poem 'Night into Day/Goodnight Till the Morning Sun'/11-12/napalmandnovocain.blogspot; poem 'Night into Day/Goodnight Till the Morning Sun' has been accepted for inclusion in the 2012 Best of Anthology, Storm Cycle

blog—deadheadingpoet.wordpress.com; has received over 75,000 views since June 2012.