A Tango for The Poets

This is not the Volta, this is
Not the Rumba, this is
Not the Foxtrot, this is not
The Charleston, this is a
Tango for the poets
Poets killed by eloquence
Procreating shadows
Poets with their djinn
With their sucked-out marrows
With their lamps of
Latent love

Poets with their imploring
Of remote and failing stars
Poets without trumpets
Without cellos or guitars
Poets mourning mothers
Poets at their suppers
With their chisels
And their cutters
This is not a dance for lovers

This is a tango for the poets
Craving light that quantifies
Poets with supernova eyes
Poets with their corkscrews
Poets with their can openers
Poets with cheap toothpaste
And concentrated bleach
Poets upon the edge
Of invisible speech
Poets with broken keys
Poets on their knees
By intangible degrees
Moving thru the trees
Seeking Ulysses

This is not the Gay Gordons
This is not the Harlem Shake
This is not the Cupid Shuffle
This is not the
Maypole
This is not the
Viennese Whirl
This is not the
Dashing White Sergeant
This is not the
Devil’s Sword Dance
This is not the
Dragon’s Dance
This is not the Last Dance
This is a dance for the poets
This is a Tango for the poets.