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  • 1.

    He was a dancer. Before
    he became a lawyer.
    In New York. Ballet.
    Back then. He was like
    a marble faun. Rippling
    torso. Abs to die for.
    Legs that scissor. In
    the air. Leaping. Bowing
    To a standing ovation.


    I knew him. Only as
    the lawyer. I saw the
    photographs. In leotards.
    Smiling with the socialites
    who wear dead beavers.
    With pearls. Surrounded
    by buxom men. Like him.
    All queer.


    But then. His knees
    unbuckled. His joints
    surrendered. He
    abandoned the stage.
    For the slow crawl
    of the law.


    Age. Sunlight. Oxygen.
    Reformed his body.
    His muscles slackened.
    No more washboard stomach.
    That beauty. That caused men.
    To pause. Revolving their
    necks. Whiplash. Was gone.


    Even demigods. Become
    depress. When their
    supplicants. No longer
    worship them. The flowers.
    The applauses. The glam
    All gone. Just a man.
    A mortal. Losing his hair.


    Despite the gym. 5x a week.
    The botox. To uncrease his face.
    The liquid diet. The protein shakes.
    The treadmill. The sit-ups. The
    push-ups. The squats. Yoga.
    Still. He was old. No longer
    the ingenue.


    Each spring. New flowers
    bloom. In the City by the Bay.
    The boys arrive. Fresh faces.
    Flashing through the heaven.
    Like a meteor. For a moment.
    The brightest star. But in time.
    Vanishing to the ground.


    It happens to all of us. He
    said. Gravity. We all fall.
    Sooner or later.

    (public mural in SF near Valencia and 17th)

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