Sunday, September 16, 2012

The Other Side of Venus



I don't care
to compete with Venus 
waiting
waiting
waiting
for a bus
at the corner of 12th Street and Vine.

On one side of Vine:
a soaring city teeming,
beaming,
gleaming,
seeming.

On the other side of Vine:
desert receding 
to distant horizon,
deserted by, even, deserters.

Sun diminishing,
moon inhaling,
stars focusing...

(Safely alone, locked in rented room,
Arthur Childs bangs his bald head bloody against
the mirror full of terrible
fish,
big fish,
little fish.)

Silver desert
silver night:
secretive cacti and pearly  
rattlers and slithery lizards and
dreaming birds and
spindly insects (mandibles opening... closing) and
whiskered rats, nestled families of whiskered rats and...

I don't care
to compete with Venus 
waiting
waiting
waiting
for a bus
at the corner of 12th Street and Vine.

But a cup of coffee with her
could 
be good.

Walk with me
as autumnal leaves
tumble
crimson and gold
in wonderland, misty...

Walk with me
to a desert,
silver, primeval,
vibrant, reverberant.