Sunday, February 14, 2016


(ash wednesday, 2016)
Queen of the Carribbean coast, they
write, like a caribou in a Maine asylum
waiting for extradition. Something better
this way comes. Or has to. So don't wait
for me to be the juggler now spinning plates.
My warehouse eyes my Arabian drums.
The sock-hop days and the Lindy hop are
gone; all they have on TV now are the crazies.
Looney Tunes, playing volleyball. Like naked
astronauts just dying to float weightless in space.
Somewhere I have to think it's Carneval once more.
Wicked priests dispensing ashes on the run. Woman
draping beads over their pendulous breasts. My
warehouse eyes my Arabian drums : the
juggler, spinning new plates, naked, 
and weightless, in space.

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