A statue dances
in stillness. Yet we
see the dynamic
of a potential
movement and feel it
deep down in the bones
of our brain and our
perfect memories...
Is that me in you?
Did some artist freeze
me in stone, in bronze,
in sand, in rusty
iron, and steal my
humunculus soul
to make me dance on?
Arms held out like parallel bars,
Lines,
Wings.
Head front and center,
Erect,
Predatory.
The four gold punctuated bricks
Are worth jumping over.
Self-portrait in punctuation
On an existence related to motion...
He is a ‘dancer.’ (o) His
………….….........……..|
……….…….......…..../ \ Body,
An older object subject
To objectification. o His
……………..........…...(_ | _)
………………..........…./ \ Bulges
Of muscles, flexed, pleasing to his own
Winking eye (;)
In a mirror of a younger past.
Bulges pleasant to other peering eyes (:) (:) (:)
Of an audience in titillated awe
In the anonymous thrill of present
Dark. (××) But
Pleasing shapes don’t always make
Pleasing dances. He has presence, a handsome
Face and a revealing outfit. (O) His
………………………..............…..…..\_|_/
……………….………...............…..../ \ Body,
An object suitable for displays, like silver. o His
……………………….….……..……......................….…..( | )
………………………..………….........................………( ) Bulges,
Anatomically correct, weathered, responding on cue,
Mercurial, musical, masculine lines in splitting
His image in atomic
Ratios both golden and stolen. But his
Body is dancing on tricks of the trade - off
Balance - the hasty turn - the wasted
Energy - of speed - of grace - of charm - tilting
Away - emotion-laden motions - cliched
Gestures - trained too late - short career
Incomplete - injury prone ankles - on hyperextended
knees. He lacks an ‘in’ style and an artistry
Of tasteful gymnastic execution now.
A voice. A signature. A personal ability. Somehow
Lessened. ‘Dancer?’ o His
………………….........….../ | \
…………………...........……| | Body,
A roughened object subject
To a failure of wow
Factor. Because he thinks he can
Still dance. Still, he exists. Better
Still, he exists motionless in movements
Of a liminal degree,
Punctuating past glories with periods
Of absence. Invisible. Silent. Quiescent.
Try to understudy me - watch my thin
Muscular curves curve, the line
Of my arm in arabesque, the hip
Tilt in my penché, my eyeline,
The musicality of my mobile spine
As I dance the role of my lifetime -
A role I was born into - headfirst.
Understand, my heart is built
To beat and to break for you, my friend.
