by Ben Nardolilli Dust rises off the floor, I call it a partner, Sure it has callous bad timing, And it gets into the lungs, But am I any better? I’m a particle Sucked into the city, Pulled through the galleries of Manhattan And the avenues of Brooklyn Where I leave behind a trail of irritation, I must cause some choking too, Doors close on me, trains are delayed, I block toilets and bathrooms, And take up too much space at the bar, Then the dance floor behind it As I whirl and twirl To Cuban Jazz, Afro-Funk, and Blues, But for now, that’s no issue, Here in my room I’m a macrocosm, again, And my moves are seismic, Raising up the dust like Lazarus for a dance. Ben Nardolilli currently lives in New York City. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Red Fez, Danse Macabre, The 22 Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, fwriction, Inwood Indiana, Pear Noir, The Minetta Review, and Yes Poetry. He blogs at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com and is looking to publish a novel.