Sunday, December 21, 2014

two steps

At ten he said he wanted
to step outside the lines
become a difference, his own
so he became the first pilot of paper-planes

At fifteen, he was sure
muscles pave the way to life's successes
women, good health, an idea of beautiful
he joined the line of planes up in the air

At twenty-five, he fell in love
with one woman, one beer and movement
to move forward in a straight line
he had to leave the air and land feet first

in two years he became the step between
the bars of music, the sand-bags could rest
chasing the stars, and rotating over and over were a sign
of days and scars present on the ground in memorials
he still breathed

one day he stepped with a woman's hand first
pressed onto his left breast-pocket
he lead her onward, as they battled
forwards and backwards in rhythm
wooden floors and flashing lights
tickers of times, counting down like a bomb
an explosion of melody and magic

that day he became the ideas he fought against, fragility
and tenderness like cotton and a mover-
he put his learning in a card-box and sent it flying
to exotic lands where bombs drop and blood derails
he knew he had the answer, to how he became different

at twenty-seven he won his battles,
the three medals and the photographs on his desk reminded him of the question
difference lay in his shoes, the secret in his toes
he was the boy who learnt the art of war
before learning to put press his feet together
and lead a woman in step, on the wooden dance-floors attached to earth.

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