Saturday, April 10, 2010


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

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

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