Tuesday, April 25, 2006

i was thinking you look like
russell crowe
and can i take you home

i was thinking i’m afraid
of glass
my shattering

i was thinking i
have beautiful legs

your hair is much too short
for my fingers to grab on to

i was thinking i’ll have to
moan when you enter me
sometimes i forget the script
and might yell out
my you have delicious tomatoes

i was thinking
i should learn to count
meditation is the act of breathing
out, out

i was thinking
there’s a holiday inn

after Bachinsky’s Spy Cam: The Surveillance Series, in Curio: Grotesques and Satires from the Electronic Age

At river’s edge. Water-touched. Skirt-burnished dandelion. Moccasins damp. A lover. Mist over rapids. Crows always up early. He hears her. Red silk for heat. June berry rolled between fingertips. A painting. Straw hat and sleeveless. Riverbank remembers.

Riverbank remembers. Straw hat and sleeveless, a painting. June berry rolled between fingertips. Red silk for heat. He hears her. Crows always up early. Mist over rapids. A lover. Moccasins damp. Skirt-burnished dandelion. Water-touched. At river’s edge.