Ten Ways to Dance
He broke a kneecap at seven,
worked a frog into the cast-
signing act; conned Elvis wannabes
out of cigarettes,
and sucked up nightmares
that starred him drowning
in a dramatic ballet.
Summer never quite fit in his hand.
He studied fathers, wondered
if third time lucky applied.
Dried pizza, Spider Man, whatever died
in his socks, breast and crotch shots
under the mattress - sheltered
behind a privacy sign at thirteen.
Patsy and Eva, found snuffed
below an overpass, rocked him;
cocked grin flawed, eyes fogged.
His green pick-up he put in the river
one winter, changed his mind, scrambled out
over the ice. It was all about marrow, heart;
will narrowed to a blue eagle tattoo.
Women, booze, predictable blues plucked
on a one-string guitar; crack filling the cracks,
programmable afflictions. Twenty years
to the five-story flight; a year
as armored vertebrate.
iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii Step. Step. Stepping.
iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
Ever the dance.
