On Tango

In tango, bodies merge and surrender to each other.
They glide like herons together, walking here, walking there, floating,
stalking into and through each other with slices of legs and sharp turns,
and the thrust of chests whirling around the centers of each other’s gravity.

Bodies listen to each other with an acutely piquant agonizing sort of ecstasy.

The melancholia of the churning music,
with its scattered notes and jolts of bandeon and sudden shifts,
is mood evoking of sweat-streaked cafes deep in the heart of an older Buenos Aires.
These phlangent shifting vapors of music hold and bind a pair together
in heart-stroking tender yearning, while the movement drives this longing ever deeper into the souls of the dancing dyad.

Tango drips into and through a person. A step. Slide and slide.

The nectar of life flows with tango. Each rythym is a placement into space, a projection into time, and an abandonment to it all.
It is an entering into time and a complete obliteration of it.

It is precision and wildness.

It is contraction concentration constraint
encased in

volatile eruptions of intensity.

Today Inside Mystery

I had an ordinary day today. Woke up, ate breakfast, rested, wrote a poem, ate some more, called a couple friends, and read email. But underneath was writhing in me so much more than simply going through with these daily ordinary events. I find it difficult to put into words what was happening inside of me on some deep level. I find it easier to write in poetic terms, thus I will attempt with the following words:


Flowing
honeyed music
plays inside my chest--
the wrought iron world outside, captive
to itself,
within itself,
churns restlessly from inside
out.

I play with thoughts, touch them
lightly with beams
of focused clarity;
touch pools of pain with
my fingertips,
they are
transformed into vaporous sheets of light.

Wisdom comes to my inner Room
and knocks

I open

tell Her to sit inside me,
even deeper

sit on that lone tree stump in
the center of this forest glade,

deep in the center
of brain and will
and watery emotion.

She comes in, trailing
long fabrics made of
light

and settles into the tree stump
of my center,
sends Roots
down through and into the stump,

and slowly, etched throughout the trajectory of my life,

I see her become the Tree growing out
of the root of my being,
replacing the old stump
which lay fallow,

resurrecting my being
so that
music can once again resonate

in honey tones

deep
inside my chest.