PUSHING FOR IT
Glamor-girls grown seedy with attention; the kind
of anticipation a doting mother pushes onto her kid
dressed as Barbie - like some death-gown in a little
play. The tumbling audience applauds, and continues
to watch what plays. A hundred little Jon-Benets.
Nightfall having arrived here with no luggage, in
mid-Summer you know it won't stay long - another
few hours, another morning song. Abbots and monks,
they crawl the dawn with their psalm-books in hand,
praising the god of locution and the God of the land.
I am stuck in the hallway, between portions of need and
portions of desire. My time is running down, like the
same time that nightfall has, and this candle, my sun,
has begun now its burn at both ends. Emily Dickinson
or one of those remainders said what a glorious
light it throws. No, no I only see shadows.