Skyler J Keiter-Massefski
EMBODIMENT HAS NOT BEEN KIND TO ME LATELY
ECSTACY LOST
Once upon a time I
knew how to dance, knew
how to give my
body over to the arms
of a stranger without fear and
move in
sync with the music.
Before the breaking, there was
dancing – movement and bodies and
sound meshed together (the moments
my body was more than itself)
in the
sweaty town dance hall or the
street rave in Galway or the club
down the street or the rooftop in Peru or
Berlin/Brooklyn/Boston, a million
places I’d rather be…
dancing.
Then there was dying,
and there was
no more dancing –
only a narrowing.
AFTER LIFE
I promise it wasn’t really death
I desired (though with livability
foreclosed, how could I possibly
truly know). Only to suspend
corporeality for a moment – take a
step back, survey the scene; map
out the timeline of what went
wrong when, as if I could go back
and try again.
Does why really matter
in the end? Must I give an
explanation of the final
straw? Over-apologize
for wounds left by the
shards?
Bare survival just wasn’t enough
anymore – flirting with ghosts
and then closing the door …
wholeness is a fantasy, intactness
always fallacy: I fell apart,
let the shattering take
hold (gave my body over
to the vulnerable soul).
ECSTACY FOUND
Cruel optimism says
there’s a better future in store –
keep the fragments intact and
find a reward. Serve Capital’s
god: produce and be saved
(while digging an ever-deeper
grave).
A choice now to be made:
work until the bitter
end (the horizon of rest
deferred again), or dare to live
shattered – not to stay in despair
or wallow in pain, but to
find liberation in bodies
abandoned. Let the phoenix-flamed
idol of resilience
stay broken.
And if, in the end,
stuck time can’t
be escaped or the
impassable interregnum
is all that there is,
I might as well dance
while I’m here.