Because if I write poetry it’s only fair to give people the opportunity to tear it apart.
There is a dance that you must know before you hit the masquerade,
Because those men and women both will stare you down with gaze of blade;
They twist and twirl and dip and duck and watch you — watching your charade:
Your practiced steps, some chosen words, that razor’s edge to run or prey.
Lift your chin and mind your feet. If you’ve self doubts, find them allayed:
For dancers here are obfuscated, tucked beneath their masks of clay
And stone and steel and knowing looks they toss to you, as if to say:
“We’ll shut the doors and sound the band. Your song is on. Go dance; allez.”