Saturday, June 18, 2011


there in the grove of trees that slept upon a cliff
surging like a thick stream of urine
from the spread lips of a mature woman's vagina
the river fell into the lake
falling with forgiveness
eyes closed
hands outstretched
it plunged from the rock face
and was gone
with so many of its kind
around it

from the plane I saw the inlet of the ocean's cusp
cutting into the land like the cleft of an ass
it was buxom and lush
the way a woman's ass should be
delicately groomed by the salt water's hand
lapping at the shore
like a tongue

while in a cave at the bottom of earth
I was hailed by a green light
the light of playful mysteries
above me was the crack in the rock
winking at me as the eye
as a window from the womb
surrounding me were many delights
and the air was humid but delicate
the water was fresh
I could have stayed down there forever
I could have
but I did not

I might have told you
I don't recall
but the white sand of the tropics
the one that sugar coats the beaches there
is not the brittle glass of limestone
or the black grit of volcanoes
it is the crushed skeletons of sea creatures
it is the soulless shit of hungry fish
a crypt of dead coral and dead clams and dead conch
the graveyard for the oceanic wars
all their mysteries wash up there
and some of ours go there to die also
so it is a strange thing
that it is in these places
we find we can relax

the two old ladies led me down the road
from behind them I could see their withered rumps
stained by the brown earth where they had been waiting
I did not speak their language and they certainly did not speak mine
but their skin was white and in this place
you look for the thing you can relate to in people
that is a rule of the traveler
it is how we remain the safest

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