at an angle the sun slides between her bones
to chase out the cold ghosts of dawn
who with sleep crusted auras
float to the mills of time when we were queens
of industries that required tough skins
and a hunger to chase some pursuit of happiness
as our kings fought the windmills of tyranny
on the shores of the land of Joan and Henry
and in the moments of dying star blaze
the queens gracefully dance into the old river of life
to reset a past that doesn’t stay put
brown pigeons crap on the hollow sidewalk
the old Chinese woman waves her hand
wills their Jackson Pollock orchestrations
by feeding them week aged beef stir fried fare
the gin and tonic mixture of my youth
roughly flows through decrepit portal veins
fifty-year old girl tells me what she wants
easy with my ductus deferens
sip a drink of shame no olive in sight
politely decline her proposition
of five spot love while i wonder away
from Magdalene of little Italy
strolling towards the ragazzo mios
void of all holy penance in this world
briscula my only love lady fair
death walks quickly on J Pershing square
my head is empty at 3.27 a.m.
it is damp with the night’s debauchery
plopping at the top of the bridge
are the noisy little birds
no one can hear
pall bearers to the dead mosquitoes
left there by circumstance
morsels for the hungry
cleaners of the earth
i think of such things
while the world keeps turning
and my sleep leaves
it won’t return
i turn and stare at drying
turnips on my table
i don’t like the water
although i miss the womb of my earth
my mother’s womb was dark and cold
pulled out dragged down
i long for primordial comfort
the safety of the sky is no longer priceless
the desert is warm at dusk
and the moon smiles her face down at me
as if pointing a finger
lost at the root i stand
without a ground
but i am not holy
little life big sorrow
the weights are against me
the lake of green is kept
by fire of angels
which i don’t understand
looking with no eyeballs
like Teresa
the dandelions are long gone
what a waste of the moon.
she hangs there brightly,
excitedly laughing,
waiting for you and i to kiss.
i look at her with an apologetic smile looking nervously
at the door to open.
i don’t want to hurt her.
i really wish you could see the beam of love in her face.
what a waste of the fragile moon.
who like me hangs there in the empty stage of the night, broken.
wishing you would someday beam for me.
words less spoken 