Dans le Vent And sure, There was that time after a long night Of searching the streets for

bits of broken glass, Gutters overflowing with wine and The disorderly precepts of a vagrant religion, Street fauna barking and jumping, The snares of indolence bouncing, Gaily against the thighs of inconsiderate Cowboys..they drink Spanish beer with Serbians served by French barmaids, They look after salsa dancers under the neon Glow of Havana simulacra, foundering, But gently and going down in shallow water Off the coast of the burning empire; Smiling they regard themselves in the mirrors Of the faces around them. And sure, why not ? por que no ? pour quoi pas ? Why not take off the clothes at dawn and stride Boldly through the streets In thick-soled red sandals? She looked so damn good in The aube, and even the cemetery walls Seemed to glisten with the pleasure Of regarding her; I sure did. My dong flapping against my thighs thick And meaty; And then we just sat there in the cool air In the middle of the cool street Under the windows, The stones marking patterns into our butt-cheeks And marvelously she made not one self-conscious gesture; Me the one who looked over the shoulder Giving nervous giggles. I dont know if it means anything. If the ball-point tattoos signify some kind Of initiation; The flowers she inscribed on my dick, Or the epaulet of a general on my shoulder, The structures of bone on my face, The radiant sun around my belly button. A Holy Empire foundering like a ship in shallow water

You can take a bath with us but this ink will not run It has been injected by long needles into the core of my brain, My heart, the pleasure centers of my testicles and my sacred chakras When she strode boldly through the quartier1, holding my skinny hand With head held high, a new star formed in the constellation of my Estimation, a new path blazed Lewis-and-Clark-like thru the wilderness Of my tattered brain.and if there is an if only it is that trying to Make love after such exultation was like trying to paint The memory of some long-forgotten race of men And nearly flaccid I became eager to abate the impotence with a startling climax That wasnt meant to be. We must allow ourselves to be Cannot allow the sly cook to announce that God has spoken to him And his message is the invitation to a terrestrial marriage In the universe of dreams this God is not a stickler for details But in the universe of dirt and blows to the chin he asks many questions, A celestial cop with an axe to grind against the foolhardy The number one Tarot card He is the white dog yapping at the heels of the blissfully ignorant The poignant question that brings the attention back to the rent, the next meal The civil facts which when faced with the obstreperous joy become stern and commanding Always the blind cop of reality basking in the sunlight, jealous of the moon and the reveries It breeds That moon a never-distant she who never begs or steals Who never says you must you should or why dont you [?] Who never demands or reprimands Who simply allows beings to jump thru the hoops of their own devising And break out with rhymes that signify nothing No poetry No song No attempt at cleverness No nothing We will jump at shadows Kiss in the wind Spit at strangers Laugh together solidly and unashamed Give it all and give it nothing Reversed in the sunlight, reversing even the Direction of rivers, avalanches, comets, star-gas Imploding clouds rolling into canyons Cactus with spines that bleed Rocks that settle into dust in the blink of an ants eye Lizards panting and winking knowingly Insects alive and dead at the same instant We will do all this and more Standing naked in the street before the world with nothing to hide
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Jolimont 2

No axes to grind Foundering ships to rescue with amused hands Pulling them out of the bathtub which is our ocean and only ours Selfish like bears with honey Like infants with teats of vanquished mothers Who have said never and succumbed to the maternal clock Jumping satellites to Venus Bombing the bass and the suburbs Writing with dust pens upon the foreheads of anti-baptism The reversal of infancy The return to a womb of splendour The tomb a disregarded dumb-saint of an enormous verity Like music in church whispered into the ears of sleeping dogs All this and more Without politics, argument, religion, or aesthetic We jump into each other with smiles and laughing and teary-eyed There was that time of broken glass melted into spectacle lenses Of delightful vision, And it was FUN 5 juillet 2002 rue Eugne Lozes