P O E M S

The Last Ballet on the Program:
To a Dancer

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These days he hears the music of desire, Punctuated by the flailing lash. In the night he lights the sky like fire And when the day comes, smolders into ash. Regimens to come make life a tunnel, Tests and guesses, and no turning back; Blindsided, Orpheus crawls downward, A glowing luminescence in his track. That silly ballet where he danced entire, A parody of woman to empty laughter, The Swan Queen won out, after Beauty shone through the costume and the liar. No need to mourn the falseness, every gesture Grotesque and gothic in its campy bliss; Tutus, and all the tools of deconstuction Cannot obscure his body’s sacredness. Prescient, his nerves begin to fire, His muscles respond from the radiant core, And darkness dissipates, beyond desire, Who could ask the dancing gods for more. © Nike Sept.1997

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