When song turned to dance thirty years ago my rustic, unplugged, and MTV-free childhood rendered me self-conscious, tense, and generally joyless. This is a self effacing glimpse into a self effacing riff on whistling and dancing. The poem is still rough, but it's coming closer to a reflection on letting go and loosening up. A lyric look at wooing whimsy. The snapshot above is totally ...
Whistle
Boardwalk
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