Satori

the loaf-stale air itself passed through the bodies
in that place, and like a pine needle in a leaf
pointed to the raunchy sweaty breasts of
the dumb young girls exposed and
the sweat glistening on their breasts
from the hard light of the bar was like a cow tongue
sweating in a pan

in one moment that I was in that crazy bar,
talking nothing but like I was swine,
feeling nothing but like rancid butter that has
basted in the smell of a skunk,
and looking at the masses seething with their
smiles like tricycle handles,

I closed my eyes and I saw
blood walking around in the form of a body
with brown tiny bits straggling inside it,

I opened my eyes and looked on
the floor, and the floor was made of
human faces looking up into the boot heals,

the roof bled black beetles who scrounge around
everywhere

I left the bar--yea, ran away from it
and I hit the outside
and didn't stop my running till
I got to a field where I had first learned
to ride my bike as a child,

and I saw myself there with white blond
hair, and I goofy voice spilling along
and echoing through the field
like a supine wonder of nudity,

yes, I saw my body there
and I laughed


the air turned warm and nurturing, the air was a factory where
a million men worked inside, punching
out the sweet tantalizing air, and the sound
of the wind running nowhere over
the dark, wet grass

that lined the pavement

M. Desjardins