Dame la verdad.
And perfect
timing.
Those are the
first two
of
Flamenco’s ten commandments.
To speak
Truth
en compas -- is
that not
how
Poetry also works?
Flamenco's third
commandment
is never to
reveal the
rest
to outsiders. This
is the
point
of divergence between
Flamenco and
Poetry.
In Poetry, you
give all
even
if you must
show the
stained
ripped swathe of
false silk
fluttering
beneath your lace-trimmed
scarlet skirt
fashioned
from the curtain
that once
dressed
a window in
Senora La-Di-Da’s
bedroom.
And the outside
exists in
Poetry
only for its
borders to
offer
a shimmering blur
of silver
hurting
the eyes into
recognizing it
into
a false Beauty.
But, still
Beauty,
Hence, the Truth—
thus, I
contradict
myself. Does Truth
exist if
one
must question, “Whose
Truth?” So
dance
me a poem.
Twine your
hands
around the stolen
pen to
release
your interior darkness
in other
people’s
lives. And don’t
forget to
behave
as if the
poet truthfully
loves
everything and everyone.
Do this
to
begin what you
don’t know
yet
as the Truth.
Don’t worry
about
capitalizing Words because
You don’t
know
what they mean.
Just dance
out
the poem. Y
escribe en
compas.
