Footloose

Mind dancing, missing steps, not much leaping. Even so, good enough. Long time backwards 'Brown Sugar' hip jerking stuff, white bellbottoms flaring like Day lilies. We were a floor for others to adore, microcosms in a single frame universe, eyes whirring, pinned to the air with a none-stick-glue. It was not true dancing, you have to enter your mind like a matador to really step out of yourself and into the boot clogging beat of a singular stillness. Still, even now at the doorstep of all my unknowing, I can dance across a mindscape with a heel-clicking, tightly laced ego. Good enough, and better than just rolling around like a stone.