Sunday, December 12, 2010

Night in a Hyatt

A surge of people
make for a literary delight.
French kissing a blue form
is dramatic and wild with clusters
of stillness lit by amber light. Boho.
Too fucking abstract.
Perhaps a day like this is broad
and clear and steady and not rainy
and disjointed. Perhaps
I should feel free to look at it
in a spoon curled just so with bisque.
I am trembling before the tasks
you shed this fur on me in such
a way that I am all wanton and agape.
Everything is worth the time
it's just that some of us have been
captured I mean, think about it.
All the things we do for you
this lovely light makes an earthy
mask can you see me? I saw
you, a little ghost walking past me
someone is arriving, someone is leaving
from time to time I realize this.
The Boomers, they are dying.
I would like you to have this
her voice so distant and removed.


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