DANCING WITH PI

dancing on the frescoed tombs
where the road starts
and the sidewalk ends
shaking and shattering in confusion
to the rhythm of her broken hip
as the scent of roses die
under the transcendental churchyard
she was a dancer

dancing on the blistered feet
where the blood flows
and the hurt never ends
entrancing the strain of lost music
without feeling or pain
as the smell of death arrives
above the smoking graveyard
she was a dancer