(a poem about the aerial dancers at the church)

twisting around
floating up and downhanging by her will
from the ceiling
crowds stare agape
at her acrobatics
her miraclulous thighs twisting
around miles of purple satin
trailing from on high
the center of this cathedral
disapproving saints look on sternly
approving boys look on eagerly
her finale looks
like a fall from grace
and she lands
perfectly
the crowd gasps
screams
applauds
and she saunters out
barefoot
swinging her velvet and sequin ass.