Late afternoons I sit at the counter of a small diner sipping vanilla coke watching the day turn into night or dollar green but it seems as Gershwin said, not for me. It is dog days and I am hot and tired and mostly luckless, angry too, my new love fading so soon. I dream myself into a hot soak in a fancy clawed foot bath tub sinking my dusty body into lilac scented bubbles. I imagine lying back with closed eyes as the hot water flicks at peony nipples. I am what one might call self-employed these days. Settling for a motel shower stall I scrub my body that smells of dusty magnolias with rose scented oil until it glimmers like alabaster. Slipping into a black sheath, silver seamed stockings and stiletto heels saved for the occasion, I make my way onto Bourbon Street. At the corner the sounds of a sax carries through the open door of a dimly lit bar, it drifts up the alley over the roof of a brothel falling into gentle ruin. From my booth there I stare through a prism of glass at the Dog Star and blow a kiss to the man in the moon already yawning at the deep purple sky.
corrupt the binds that hold you
but should you feel so inclined
do not waste what you do not have.
In altered zones of delight
I tumble through the days.
My lover comes and goes leaving me
lonely and politics is not soothing either.
I speak to America, You beautiful nation.
Beauty is not my friend
but the concept that governs is.
Read the lines on which your independence
rests you citizens of heaven.
The Congress, July 4th, 1776.
“The history of the King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpation, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States“.
“”Those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it”
I have slept with you and on waking, your mouth, come from your dream, gave me the taste of earth, of sea water, of seaweed, of the depths of your life, and I received your kiss moistened by the dawn as if it came to me from the sea that surrounds us.