Orgiastic Crosswalk

by on April 7, 2011 :: 0 comments

Dusk on Broadway, you were
forlorn at the Condor
doors spread-eagled, open, splayed
on the corner—
something lost.
forgotten.
like the Garden of Eden
an easy step across the street
glowing neon screaming, please,

Easier to remember the feeling than the face
but maybe it’s better to forget,

to rise with the fog
not as you were roused
the night before, with legs
neck-twined and trying
to please—attempts better
saved for lives
better spent.

But mornings could not be livelier walked
because newness is relative
and innocence only nightly lost.

So smiling at pedestrians,
the too-serious small girl
in the felt panda hat,
Velcro chin-strapped,
feels natural on your aging face
although last night,

almost-sated on-the-cusp thirst-slaking near-full,
unquenchable,

you fucked her grown-up
counterpart.

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