Dance City Street Lights

A baby's basket bounced two-times two. Circled chimed towers ring downtown beep-bop to the rhythm. Enjoy the music; birds fly over docks. It's the busy bouncing great city street lights that hit the road, shimmer in the dark. I enjoy watching you dance to the music, June. The jungle summer parties kaput from hard rain last summer and were laden with children screaming "Mommy, I can't find you." Nothing stops your dancing. You're oblivious unless the music stops. I pace the streets of the city's heart and quadruple the center of the streets core, two-times-ten ready to run, run when I know it's your sassy sway from side to side 'till you turn in his arms, a fall light as yogurt. It's undeniable that this baby's basket can bounce, bounce, bounce, so vulnerable to the splitting of the wood and the crying of the child's watery mucus clogs her throat and all you hear is wah, wah, wah when Xenon cries, like cheese cloth dipped in chocolate; hard to hear the yelling when all you comprehend are feet tapping and music moving all around like zig, zag, zook until you collapse, cause all you knew was dance, dance, dance.