Lost in bologna

he thought he was dancing, lost
in Bologna, tap tip tapping while
he swayed clumsily in the piazza

brown splotched hands moved
in a caress, lazy moths of veins
fluttering and floating, excited

winter detritus clung laughing
to his uncared shoes, brown and
starved for his affection

toe heel tap slide point turn repeat
around the birds gaggled, in dismay
the intruder brought his show

socks fallen upon gaunt ankles
thin sticks on a sterile tree
slavishly living in black and white

a circus of dissembling consonants
clack clacking without vowels, respite
our sideshow tumbled at the end

with eyes struck grey, bewildered
by a failure long unexpected, gawking
primly at a man who loved the night