Lust

Lust

–

–

Little Red Riding Hood’s looking at the wolf,

The Wolf is behind a newspaper,

dragging on his fag,

with two telephoto lens cameras,

whom he calls Hansel and Gretel,

hanging on his sides,

Red knows he’s waiting.

–

Little Red Riding Hood’s staring at the wolf,

The Wolf is holding a newspaper,

smoking a cig,

with two wide angle cameras,

whom bring the bread crumbs,

draped about his sides,

Red unwraps her cloak,

it falls on the floor like a crumpled semi,

Red crawls onto the bed,

the silk sheets against her thighs;

–

Red dances in front of the fountain,

A shrine to grandmothers, and the earth,

Red steps in the cool water,

Its cold embrace embracing invasively,

The shimmery metallic mermaid-scale coins slide under her feet,

The waters reflect her face,

Red wishes . . . a wish . . .

The What If Game

The What If Game

 

 

 

 

On the couch next to her, in a thoughtful lull,

(Her eyes—brown, warm: they were like that, indeed,

But amplified by an amiable lens:

Or friendship, that unexamined window

Which I feared to dirty with greasy doubts sown

In a dream of opposite things from

 

What is.) I suppose I looked far away. She

Asked me: What are you thinking of? I

 

Thought some and then said: What if I were just a

Ghost? What proof do you have that I am real?

 

Well what proof have you? Perhaps I’m a ghost too.

 

It’s Funny, I said. What, said she. I only thought…

 

Are not ghosts supposed to be see-through?