Oh, the dancing!
That incredible lost world of dancing.
The moving magic freedom
The kinetic ghosts of yesterday.
Where have all those yesterdays gone?
The impassioned crowds,
Wet with sweaty frenzied male motion
Tank top tucked
In the ready,
Keys and kerchiefs left and right
Colored for personal delights,
Boots tapping with urgency
Captured by the beats, syncopation
Voices sung in abandon,
Undulating, rising and falling
As if keeping beat to the swell of tides,
Everything made beautiful
Capturing our souls by the passion
Dithrambic ancient joys
Deep in the hearts of we
As if preparing for the plague to come
Drums beating for the last of we pagan angels,
One summer’s night at the Saint,
The Big Apple’s glorious ecstatic haven.
It has passed.
Many years ago,
In this fade and closing days of stillness
An old man remembers
A DJ creating a Stairway to Heaven.
There was no way
To anticipate the swells of the heart
On that day,
On that particular birthday
Where came the swift rise
Of surging tides
No way to stir the art
Which in the final
Came as a tiny sigh
Filled only with the notion,
That if one were to ask about it,
I would say
In the spirit of a beautiful requiem:
I’d rather have died in the past.