Tuesday, August 5, 2008


I can close my eyes and imagine,
imagine that when I am not young anymore,
I can no longer delude,
delude thirty into twenty,
forty into thirty,
fifty into forty,
I can close my eyes, open them
and see blue, gnarled veins
protruding from my hands,
from my ankles to my toes,
from my temples down my neck,
coursing, snaking, slithering,
mapping a leather-covered,
earth-colored, topographic landscape.
I can close my eyes and imagine,
imagine for just a moment,
a mere moment, the moment an atomic-clock
transitions, and hears a sexy montone,
announcing its transfer to line 10, downtown.
In that moment I can see
your black tresses coil
like the spiraling, springing smoky waif
of a mixture of incense and antimony.
I can see,
the slenderness of your fingers,
in mine
and I am reminded of the tenderness
of the stem of an unborn Narcissus.
I can close my eyes and imagine,
when you walk on your toes
a sliver of air separates you and Earth.
And I ask, how can this ever be?
At that moment,
the brown of the pupils within your eyes,
is like the color of walnuts.
Their shape,
the perfect curvature of an almond
meticulously carved by God.
The dark arches above,
are like the curvature of space-time, and
the radiating sheen of your skin
is the skin of a Greek olive,
wet, oily, full of vigor, zest and spice.
I can close my eyes and keep
imagining, imagining for a long,
long time.

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