The many that I had accepted
Beyond my control, far from being able to affect any change
Are not nearly as important
As those I forgot, or chose to let linger and fade.
And new ones come up to chase everyday,
It's true what they say;
The more things change, the more
They remain the same.
Alternate the moves, change the pace-
Still the same tango:
Dancing in place

Clad in plaid and leather, silver
drenched in blood
fingers gracefully extended
to pull the trigger,
jump the gun -

Back to back,
shoulder to shoulder,
hand-to-hand
combat
with each other, with the reaper

This ménage-à-trois
- brother - brother - Death -
encircled in an endless dance,
scowling like wolves,
gnashing blades like teeth,
growling like gunfire

one stretches his arm
and reaches into Hell
a sharp intake of breath, thick
like demonic blood -
his hand gripping the other one tight

by the shoulder -
handprint burnt into his flesh already
from decades of dance rehearsal,
always dancing, always getting tired -

the two as one
and the Holy Ghost of Death between,
this third, silent party
ever-observing, winding between their bodies,
slick and oily -
cunning Death is a slippery eel.

Cheek to cheek
their tears mingling
as they whisper the steps to each other,
useless reminders of
‘I’m sorry’
‘Goodbye’
‘I love you’
‘I can’t be without-’

and one! Death kicks his leg
a sharp stab to the chest,
the heart underneath slowing to the rhythm
of tango dying in the spotlight…

and two! one brother picks up the speed,
carries his partner through the routine,
an arm
elegantly draped around
a neck,
half-carried, half-dragged through this dance,
each foot-fall heavier than the one before,

and three… the violins stop screeching
their violent delight,
all eyes carefully trained on the dancers,
warm blood trickling between their lips,
barely touching,
hot breath visible in the cold black
surrounding their heads.

Death stares, shrouded in his coat.
The boys disheveled but him untouched,
a joyless grin on his pale lips,
thin brow dusted with
the sweat of exertion,
the fire in their lungs

lights a spark -

four! the violins pick up again
their strings wailing in excitement
as a hand descends from Heaven
the dancers looking up in awe,
lifting their faces to the single spotlight
illuminating their locked fingers,
rigid backs,
cheek to cheek still

and five, spinning them around
the hand makes all the blood undone
and heals their wounds
as Death lurks in the shadows, ready
to attack once more -


again - six, again - seven,
eight, nine!
their ribs broken and breath quivering,
hands still holding tight,
legs outstretched -

slowly kneeling in an embrace of pain…

pleading mouths -
‘Stay-
stay with me’
‘Please’
‘Tell me,
tell-
t-tell me it’s okay-’

But on ten, enter stage left
one who’s danced with Death half
an eternity-
he latches onto one brother,
forearm against forearm,
leaving him marked -

suddenly a new rivalry-
the dynamic changes swiftly now
and one brother, with his fists raised high,
Death wrapped around his torso,
he is poised to pounce -

ready to ****, now,
any second now,
come to Death, spin him ‘round,
lock eyes with the unthinkable-

eleven. And an arm extends -
in the flash of his own blade
Death falls to his knees,
soulless eyes glazed over, staring still,
the dancers fixed in their sight -

He goes down without applause -
the audience is shocked,
the dancers are shocked,
the violins stopped mid-stroke.

Twelve. A moment of silence for the death of Death.


A beat. And another.
The daring of a pumping heart.
Composure, posture, straightening backs,
hand in rough-skinned hand,
an air of grace and defiance
in their footwork,
set to finish this performance.

At thirteen the violins fall into
the final act -
the dancers spin and smile
painfully wide,
the audience screams and cheers,
wring their hands,
whistle like toreros

rousing Death, forgotten on the parquet,
from his curtain fall,
hands reaching, feeling into the warm
spotlight -
the spectators scream in horror,
the brothers, bowing, turn too late -

prelude -

one -

Non stop time-space tango.
Five senses twist and turn stories!
Retreat to greater time.

i’ll never forget the first time we danced, at the social in august,
the heat and humidity of the summer night, intensified by the confines of the old wooden dance hall.

the music was electric, the crowd ecstatic when we locked eyes, and i asked you to dance. i took your hand, soft and moist, and led you to the middle of the dance floor.

surrounded by bodies, gyrating and spinning, i put my arm around you, pulled you near, pressing your body tightly against mine.

i held you in my arms, discovering, savoring the feel of your body, the wetness on your back, the earthiness of your scent.

i sensed the sensuality, the sexuality, the animal, inside you. never had i desired a woman as much as i desired you.

They say "It takes two to tango"
But I can dance alone
Like a graceful ballerina
With aching ankles
And broken bones
I'll gracefully show you
How beautifully broken I am

He lay there in a *****, unkept ball,
Having surrendered to the pavement.
Wisps of stringy brown hair
Covered the lines on his sunken in face,
His yellow smoked eyes, rheumy and blurred,
His vision hazy, like a punch-drunk boxer.

Kathleen Harmon sashayed by
With nary a glace downward.
Once they were equals,
When they sat together
During high school Chemistry.

Time slowed from a Tango to a Waltz,
As a drop of saliva
Kissed the pavement.
Stringing there from his cracked, parted lips.

His tangled brown whiskers,
Patchy on his cheeks,
Had lengthened with the passing days
Since their last meeting with a razor.

Nikes, Prada, and Gucci
Ignore him in passing
All sports, fashion, and business meetings;
On the clock, and self-absorbed.

Dusk marked the sky
With a violet crayon
Worn to a nub,
Then worn to nothing.

A sudden thud startled him awake!
Then blackened hardwood stunned him as it bit into his ribs!
A caustic voice berated his slumber,
A navy blue reminder that even surrender was no escape.