Untitled

Pedestrians with distracted rage --
Frantic dancers on the stage.
The music low so we all hear
The grunting, pounding, squeaking, clear.
And wandering fast with mouths pulled tight
They cut through triangles of light
And keep their foreheads at the ground;
Toward the curtained wings they're bound
Where silent eyes are blocked from view
And then the dances are all through.