True Stories About False Dancers

by Darryl Price

The world is a mighty funny place. It 
spins wildly and we are held down by its 
strong ghostly gravity. We're still able 
to communicate with one another 
over morning coffee and delicious 
cake donuts dipped in chocolate. Some of 
us used to keep rolled up newspapers in 
our deep coat pockets all day long. It was 
important to know what was going on. 
Now we know more than we ever bargained 
for, but the true stories get so twisted 
into tangled lies ever faster and 

faster. Some say that's a comical turn 
of events. The price of doing modern 
business. It's not too bad I think. Things 
just happen all the time here because my 
business is poetry. I keep the 
front doors unlocked even on the quiet- 
est of days when no one comes looking for 
unexpected  poems. I don't worry 
about all that. They'll find or invent their 
own folded maps out of a natural 
curiosity sooner or later. 
We'll meet somewhere in the bookstore of the 

one mind and heart. It's human nature. In 
the meantime here we are blowing off the 
latest dust and having a secret smile. 
You came because you want to still believe 
in certain wonderful things that seem to 
be disappearing and it alarms you, 
but poetry isn't so easily 
made into a mysterious fossil. 
It's no meat and bone creature melting on 
the hot road to nowhere. People always 
like to think dragons aren't real--they are, they 
are just not like our reality of 

living between earth and sky. But they can 
still poke their smoking heads into our world  
from time to time. It's called a lark for a 
reason. That doesn't exactly make them 
any less important to the grand scheme 
of things. But let's go back to our own small 
conversation. The mad world being a 
funny place and all. It happens all the 
time. People talk too much one way. Then they 
talk too much another way. And pretty 
soon up is down and down is sideways. It's 
just the next commotion out of boredom 

or ingrown fear or even redemption 
of some sort clawing its way to the top 
of the heap for a look around. The just 
starting to glow poems bow their heads and 
silently float toward the sun. Some with 
flapping roots and some with gliding wings and 
some others with wagons laden with one 
of a kind fireworks for the children who 
grew up deep inside us. We'll be there. Don't 
you worry. The poets and the dragons.
The dreamers and musicians. The painters
and comedians. The fools and lovers. 

Bonus poem:

The Flower That Invented a Ladder

by Darryl Price

The world is 
a beautiful day, 
I told her, 
and now because 

you're also
in it, it's  
my favorite place 
to be glad.