Fat Toad


I saw a fat toad on my doorstep.

It spoke to me in its toad words:


“Would you care to dance?”

And I of course obliged.


A pirouette by me

A hop by the fat toad


Movements so simple, so crude

They felt so graceful, so shrewd


A ritual so bizarre

felt so quaint – a past scar


Like a new flavor of chocolate:

Strange but familiar, a blue star.



The toad was only a dream.

Of course it was; toads can’t dance.


Speak, sure – any old fool can speak.

Words come from the mind.

And toads are mindful creatures.


But dancing is different.

Dancing is expression of heart.

Toads are heartless creatures.


Toads can’t dance.

But the mind can wander.


Toads can’t dance.

But the heart can wonder.


Deep within the heart is a 

Strange, harrowing, 

particular creature: the Goo.


It travels through the Soul

marring it in black oil.


It creeps into the Spirit

constricts it, almost kills it.


When it first touched me

I screamed and cringed.


My heart leapt from chest

hidden far from Gooey stress.


The Goo could not hurt me

slime dried in empty sea.



With no heart, I lay still.

With no heart, I had no will.


No blood passed through my meridian

And with that, I was amphibian.


I hopped in the slime

I danced in the goo.


My heart shined brightly

be it stained or tidy,


For what is more Heartful,

more enchanting, than dancing?


For what is more queer,

more wonderful, than a 

fat toad?