In the crowd of dancers -

faggots -

frat boys...

crowd of strangers -

crowd employs

the art of distance -

the cold of heart...

the dancers sway -

they play -

they depart...

they awake -

they take -

they break you apart...

but they never touch us

& we never start.

He was moving & beautiful;

my eyes never left him...

His eyes were closed;

lost there inside of him...

I watched him

until I couldn't not tell him...

He walked in tragics

both magic & grim...

He danced in dreaming

& swayed me in starlight...

He pranced in screaming

& made me feel just right...

He was out of our world

& inside of his own...

He danced with the rest of us

while he danced alone.

When he danced -

When he spoke -

His voice was a poem.

When we said our goodbyes

he had opened his eyes

Angel of Bronze -

He turned me to stone.

- For Phil -