Zachary Kluckman

Rookie (2/21/74 / Texas)

Heart-Broke Halogen Angel - Poem by Zachary Kluckman

Heart-broke halogen angel;
your feet bleed like a dancer
stepping past memories with the sharp edges of anger,
all steep inclines and strange angles.
Kicking stones against calluses
you point your feet into the wind
and rub the stinging from your eyes.
Leave us, in the front row,
witness to the slow hole growing
in the back of your throat.

You lead the gray parade with blood on your shoes
and we become neon, flaccid dancers
emulating your fashion,
audience to your falling;
in the stands, sinking into each step
like new lovers
dancing to a song with only
one
long
chord
slipping saxophone silhouettes
leaving boot print shaped puddles between the fast pirouettes
and high-heeled tornadoes.

Staging the breaking of wings
in a broken-back dance like a puppet
with strings cut to slack,
you sing your blood to strobe-lights,
flashing the curtains in crimson displays,
lighting your face between tears,
and we stop too suddenly,
like clay on the potter’s wheel.
You fell into verses, haunting
midnight with hurricane winds and whole note smoke rings.
You wet the empty feelings
we wept into our laps,
watching ex-lovers in cellophane slacks
dance reflection tight tangos
with women in dresses as short
as the diminishing light every eye leaves behind.

We wait the perfect shatter of your tears
to upset the balance in favor of gravity,
craving the safety of floors
with the vulgar innuendo of waist line to bass line,
thrusting storm-warnings against the
wood in collapse,
falling with you from shadow to outline.
Your song is a mirror that masks a permanent stain,
and your dance spins you out of memory
with a slow release from pain.

You dance in circles, upsetting the stage.
The muscle sculpture of your legs
like curtains across windows,
drawing shelter against the rain,
and the lightning outside
flashing in your eyes,
throws your shadow across the floor.
And we dancers lie down.

Like cellos reaching for octaves
we unravel the strings of our voices,
unhinge the door to the storm.
We fold the threat in from the evening
and let the waters fill us in
like broken
halogen
headlights.


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Poem Submitted: Thursday, March 22, 2007

Poem Edited: Saturday, February 5, 2011


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