Thursday, May 12, 2011

Paradis, C'est les Autres


There are others here
and you, dancing
Pas de chat
Pas de cheval
Pas de poisson
I am forsaken; I am nothing.
 
That stage was our bedroom
Those eyes, those feet, the sweat 
The floorboards, unfinished, natural
A boombox, plugged into the power point that sometimes did not work
And the trains in the morning;
In the night
There was music though we had no need for it
We could bend to the deepest position; a grand-plié then
Pas de basque
Pas de valse
Pas de deux.

But one evening after the ballet I tore the lids from my eyes. How was I to sleep? Was I to miss your delicate face for even one second?   

And now there are others here
and you, dancing up there in the light
I am a beast alone with a torch
Guiding the crowds to their seats
Nobody speaks.

I am in hell.

6 comments:

  1. i totally get this.

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  2. Sublime, mate. Is that a Gorey pic? You make excellent existential bedfellows.

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  3. I will never understand how you do it, roller, but you've done it again. This is great.

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  4. Thanks everyone. @BdV, yes "© Edward Gorey. From: The Lavendar Leotard: or, Going a Lot to the New York City Ballet. (1973)"

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  5. I am late to this party and the best parties are in hell because they never end so I guess I am not late. More words please.

    "beneted"

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