. . . and you turn yourself around . . .

o proud left foot, that ventures quick within,
then soon upon a backward journey lithe.
anon, once more the gesture, then begin:
command sinistral pedestal to writhe.
commence thou then the fervid hokey-poke,
a mad gyration, hips in wanton swirl.
to spin! a wilde release form heavens yoke.
blessed dervish! surely canst go, girl.
the hoke, the poke – banish now thy doubt.
verily, i say, ’tis what it’s all about.