You Just Can’t Stop the Music

He said, “forget the poetry,”

and wide eyed, unbelieving,

my heart so open the world

inside danced

until the words stopped

the music; the dancers

halted, suddenly unsure

of themselves

then sat on their haunches

and cried.

 

What have we been doing all these years?

Has it all been a waste,

all this learning to move our bodies

in cadence with the rhythm

of her heart beating?

 

Why have we bothered, allowing

 ecstasy to shiver our bellies,

despair to make claws of our fingers,

grasping at the drama of frenzied spaces,

careening to collide until something

makes contact, something

to hold on to

and let go of,

when the changed beat

compels us to gyrate again,

undulate our hips

toward another completion,

sway our heads into new

contortions, capturing her heart

like the blue eyed Russian boy

or the drum beat that melted her clothes

into a heap of bear fur

after flying to Pluto as a dark crow

calling in annihilation?

 

What purpose is all this we do

other than for the poetry of it—

our throats stretched back taut

our chests spread open, leading the way

our bellies hungry for more and more movement

for lovers and lovers and more lovers

touching each other in the beauty ridden

 rooms of her making

where everything is permitted,

 the sky always day bright

forever lost in midnight,

infinitely dawn pale blue.