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by J. Blake Gordon
sweeping those last from the room
they bellow "bon soirs"s, smashing
glasses undrained against the wall
laughing all, reaching into their pants
"go drive your cars away,"
i say, "go
kiss your other places;
don't start with that here"
i pull down the hanging lights
you dance topless, leaving the
windows wide - the wine dries
while i gather up shards,
while i sweep
the wall is red
where i place my hand to rest
when i pause to look at you
your face, your lean shadow
shaping space in the dark
quite like fire
my lovely flame
by J. Blake Gordon
what a night i have had!
how mighty this storm rolling
in late is - it's good to be home
good to have this smoke and right
here on the floor is just fine
thoughts that are with me
pose lazy inquiries:
"how am i going to rid
myself of these clothes?"
"how shall i find my way
to the bedroom and into the bed?"
"and the lights?"
the wind knows
ask the wind
bang - shake!
rumble - bang!
ah, yes
by J. Blake Gordon
jesus ages in certain large trees
his face is cut in sides, he is
installed as a hotel room door
o there i see it - i had to
keep my eyes closed
we're together now, away
from the dailies, sleeping
like familiar cats
after our bad trip
i brought the camera
she set up the stereo
the bathtub is a bubbling heart
and the walls are crimson soft
we'll have fires in place
drink wine from small cups
settled three nights deep
in the dark green hills
bright spring stars and rising
pines pointing to the sky
give us cover where we lie
mingling spirits with desire
______________________________________________
by Robert Slattery
wisps of fog
and sizzling twilight
runaway
driverless busses
full of mexican hindus
careem up
mountainous slopes
propelled
by the
ground licking tongues
of favored postulants
who hang
out the windows
