I dance hungry 
my guts empty and my organs 
desperate  not to miss a note 
or moment of inspiration 
most of the night is immorable and numb 
but still I wait 
poised to pounce 
every bit of glittering energy 
electifying my body 
quivering for my chance to leap 
If you touch me I'll scratch and claw 
so drawn into the coiled concentration 
as strange visceral urges 
drive me to the hunt 
to the dance 
to the song 
I must dance and wait 
wait until the desperation softens 
slowly softens and dispels, 
until, at last, I can purr and rub again 
until,finally satiated, 
I curl up in a soft and satisfied ball 
and  go to sleep. 

Andrea Sykes, 1987 

Slaying The Dragon