Yet again.

ON A CRISIS

There is another dance. Knives fully drawn
They stand in line and click their booted feet
Swap compliments and wives. 'Her lips are sweet
But mine fucks like a ferret'. As the dawn

Breaks bloody. They all turn and take a bow
To us who watch. One carves another's spleen
Elegant bloodlessly. This all has been
Prelude to fast fierce murder. Starting now

Pattern dance ritual and politesse
Laws somehow though we do not see their sense
Payment for slights that no one sane resents
The dance floor sodden soiled shit guts blood mess

Dead all the dancers following those rules
Dead all who watch those bloody minded fools.