Extras On The Yacht
If love and you are the city and language
But its greater metropolitan area, why do I feel
You present an opportunity and challenge
To speak as if from the center of the lowest crater,
The highest megaphone of itches comedy sketches
And mine them, perhaps,
As cookies dig for asparagus on the way to avocados
When the fly buzzes above the great chain of being
And worship is a warship made into a restaurant
That lets you on deck only if you drink
Desalinized water for free and sing for your tip?
So the love poem will take some time.
It seems to poke its head from the sand
Of an interest in vocabularies and their sexless sects.
It’s thirsty from being so lonely in the sand.
But thirst is good for it, good as water, safer than milk
And not just because machines can be played with
More erotically than mountains,
And not just because the self is like a donut
With a hole in it big enough for
What would be called a munchkin
Even were it not a celery stalk
Around which several horseshoe souls could be thrown
If the Lord be willing, and of course she has to take off
Her dress of the city to find love in the sex
Manhattan pretends to be when we’re on deck
Circling it, like vultures made tame by their status as extras.
(Originally Published in Open City Magazine, 2003; and the limited edition Chapbook SCRATCH VOCALS (Potato Clock, Boulder, CO, 2003)