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 Michael H. Levin: Poems and Prose  

A CHORUS LINE

I never could high-kick

words were my tap-shoes

but I know these dancers:


ecstatic routine masking terrors

of keeping on spot in the line,

self on the line; raw yearning,

stripped, on the line


those who hurt most

departing stage left

in the husk of a grueling day


the one on the floor

silently screaming

felled by a faithless knee


Where do they go

what cold meal in a cold flat

their destination


disappointment

the price of dreaming


the awful question


When I can’t dance

hanging like gallows from the flies.

Version first published in The Raven's Perch, 18 Feb. 2021

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