Please don't make fun of how I dance
My reign as Groove Tiger is almost done
My body is made to wear clothes and tear poses
A little quirk, a little fear, a flared nose
Swaying to communicate things I don't mean
A ticket found in my shirt's front pocket
Unbuttoning a special sound to mark it as a holiday
I was placed in hot water ooch ouching to the next jerky beat
I'm slipping on a puddle of sweat left by
People huddled around hiding from my elbows
Each leg must schloop out of mud for the next big move
And there's a bunch of bootleg webs to fight my way through
I'm treading water with or without the eggbeater kick
I'm trying to map four distances from front to back
Running an eccentric marathon on tips & toes
A melodic endurance royal, loyal, totally rude
I'm trying to keep my wig still
Despite the jello motions asking for the bald spots
I am Stretch Armstrong's failed prototype
Dead Gumby, dried silly putty, JNCO jeans dummy
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well conceived and nicely brought forth in beautiful diction with conviction. A beautiful creation. Thanks for sharing Tyler and do remain enriched.