False Pride: Tango Dancer
False Pride: Tango Dancer You are the seductive arch of a bay without roots, a drop descending on the half-light, sustenance of magic footsteps at the moment of the suicide. You dance with the white and silent breeze of AIDS where tango dancers take their stilettos for a stroll— broken-in Italian shoes— then burn their tongues nailed to a false pride. I spit you, not once or twice but three times. You’re female and male neutered to frighten the children at local holidays, a simple invitation to dust .