love triangle in berlin

the camera rolled
on what seemed to be a rehearsal of some sort.
a string quartet set the mood
on a stage with lights up on a hollow house.
no audience besides the skeleton crew
being careful to pretend they almost
don't exist so the performers can. exist.
so they can play with intimacy
and a quiet simple aching love
for what is about to take place.
the scene was being set with
a singer who lit her torch
like a billie holiday joni mitchell love child
saying her final words before setting herself
or maybe someone else on fire.
in the background there was a man
wearing a simple garb of leather and denim
a bit like james dean had he not died...
had he straggled on to later years.
he looked in a mirror while applying
white face and watching the music be played
and tried not to act like he was being filmed
and tried not to act like the hair on his arm was standing up
and tried not to act like every note was possibly guiding him
to a premature breaking point.
and just then a dancer entered stage left
seemingly improvising to the strings and flames
and every new angle of her flesh and bones
translated the song into a language
that was like a binary universal code
to be understood by all...
even maybe a god who will finally show face for a thing like this.
and as the man with an unfinished sloppy face
stood to meet the expert motions of her always wishes
and muscles and blood traveling that made him realize his craving
for life, like seeing a hummingbird hover in super slow motion
and for a second believing he too could live like that. could fly like that.
but as he attempted to reach out
he only fumbled and fell and rolled around hoping to be something else
that would be enough for her and equal.
and maybe it was all part of the choreography
which it must have been
because otherwise why would cameras be watching
making movies for posterity and maybe even art.
or was this reality tv?
or was this a dream?
then the singer setting the tone seemed to be watching on
and the dynamics became that of an age old love triangle
in purgatory circus
hanging on with desperation
not wanting to let go and find out
where the end would lead.
even as the string quartet
finished the song
the singer continued
in acapella free style lingering on a slightly off key madness.
as the dancer and man-clown continued with her
the camera rolled on steady all in a single shot
taking everything in.
over shoulders
extreme close-ups
two shots not sure if they want to be singles
or maybe even a three shot.
the man-clown stopped trying to reach the heights
the dancer stopped moving only to reveal she actually had wings
the singer stopped singing at last
and entered into the breast of the dancer who collapsed her whole
wing span around her
as the man-boy-clown watched for a moment
then walked away back to the mirror
and began to scrape off the make up
to a level of not clean, but only distortion
that brought himself at last to where his truth was in that time
of giving up everything he thought he wanted
as he still tried to pretend the camera wasn't rolling
on this auto-biographical dream ballet
that actually had no meaning at all,
besides the meaning of getting to the next moment
through a path of art, love, and letting go of the last moment
that will always be remembered
for awards at foreign film festivals
and that will have to be enough
as they all pretend to relax at the first screening
hearts racing
watching carefully and sometimes looking down instead.
not because they were scared or embarrassed
but because they almost couldn't take
the realization that the scene that clicked before them
from light over their heads
was more alive than everything they have done in between the lines.
and while the audience applauded and praised
they had already made their exit
and found themselves in a bathroom stall
fumbling and dancing and improvising
a silent song that would never be sung again
and there were no cameras this time
so they knew it was real
as they went their separate ways
to meet the press
and smile
and pretend
like it was all a show
and not their own private stop motion love virus
that no camera could capture...ever.
and ever and ever and ever
they would ache to return
but in old age may only sit
watching this memory back on the late show
with popcorn and wine and dancing and touching
with only themselves alone
wondering if the others are doing the same
and if they should call
and find each other again
to say goodbye
one more time