The dance,
a manic hunt
for happiness,
stunned movements flung in
wild abandon,
pain anew.
Dresses, tight,
cleavage, the only accessory--
sexual titillation
of a false kind.
It’s dance to celebrate the theme of black,
no celebration,
a match for the coffin
upon it’s raised catafalque.

Music of loss;
music of the end home;
hearing not the hymns,
bodies
move madly like
black bees
worshipping their Coffin Queen
in a Dance of Death.
False faces
proclaim happiness from afar,
but unease
pushes through the smiles,
bursting past the masks.
Pall bearers
await the end,
forever
dancing, priests and all.

Queer chaos,
the death of a young soul.