DANCE for me my minions, DANCE!!

C'mon baby, do the locomotion ...

And it's hard to say
Just how some things never change
And it's hard to find
Any strength to draw the line
I'm just burning doin' the neutron dance

Ah we can dance if we want to, we can leave your friends behind
Cause your friends don’t dance and if they don’t dance
Well they’re are no friends of mine

Let me tell you 'bout a place
Somewhere up in New York State
Where the people are so gay
Twisting the night away

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat wondering, "What if the Hokey Pokey really is what it's all about?"

"Would you like to touch my monkey [wikipedia.org]? Touch him! Love him! Now is the time on Sprockets when we dance."

The desires of the heart are as crooked as corkscrews,
Not to be born is the best for man;
The second-best is a formal order,
The dance's pattern; dance while you can.
Dance, dance, for the figure is easy,
The tune is catching and will not stop;
Dance till the stars come down from the rafters;
Dance, dance, dance till you drop.

Insomnia rages.

In Response to mkinyon (#31422):

Billy Collins, Litany

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine.

Way down south in Birmingham
I mean south in Alabam'
There's an old place where people go
To dance the night away

They all drive or walk for miles
To get jive that southern style
It's an old jive that makes you want
To dance till break of day

On the floor of Tokyo
Or down in London town to go, go
With the record selection
With the mirror reflection

In Response to gtyrrell (#31425):

Well, if you don't like Auden, how about Goethe [readbookonline.net]?

Well I remember when the lights went out
and I was tryin' to make it look like it was never in doubt.
She thought that I knew, and I thought that she knew,
so both of us were willing, but we didn't know how to do it.

i'm doin the standing still

In Response to Lonely Goatherd (#31459):

i'm a horney bitch.

Prove it?

In Response to zamphir (#31475):

Well, here's a photo [jrj-socrates.com].

In Response to Lonely Goatherd (#31458):

Id that you Michael?

In Response to Nagy_Vilmos (#31528):

you misread that as 5yr old. and besides he's not usually looking for them... they're thrust upon him by poor parents. much like greatness.