Saturday night at the Lensic–Robert Wood’s “Choreografia.” Here are 17 lines for the 17 small pieces:
the body
has its own
narrative, suddenly
interrupted
(shadow/
grid)
crickets–heartbeat
the orchestra
warming up
the dancers
already on stage
the audience
seemingly choreographed
turn snare cast split
like a cup of bitter green tea
drunk off an alleyway
in a great city
the curtain lifts/ start again
