As Great Deities
Oh!
How we fucked
in the afternoon!
As great deities we
Made brand new rivers
Of sweat down each other’s backs,
Sheets pulled off corners
Of maps
And Niagara Falls
And
For moments
I had
No thoughts
Just shallow
Breaths
Left
Hanging
Sharing pants of air
Back and forth
Playing tennis with sighs
And running fingers through
Now wet hair
—Laying in soft almost gone sun
And sheets no more dry
-
Gym
Shoot
Gallery
Hanging out
Smash windows
Goat
Great, tired
-
Dolphy exhales
—Jazz holds its breath
-
The grass in the park is a
Leaf collector in the autumn
30 In The Rain
And Zack, carried the boat sized BBQ up the back steps as the summer rain washed the sky down on an orange tarpaulin stretched over the giant bird framed wooden structure, exoskeleton of proportions. This was meant to be the party gazebo, a rave nest pinned up with cotton soft eyelash clouds to triangular flaps, our hopes and prayers in the frictions of holy saint staples to hold this whole crazy mess or nest up. I felt sorry for the neighbours. I felt sorry for our poor asses rushing to drag a one thousand watt PA system under cover. Sal and I are trying to dry our arms on wet clothes–damp shirts and sodden overalls. The canvas ceiling leaked like a wet dream, but we managed to detangle the wires and hump the speakers up. The only thing left was a broad dark leafed plant sleeping in an unused toilet bowl–do plants name each other?–do they speak in French, or another tongue?–maybe Polish? Let’s call this on Marcle.
So, Zack had all the burners going on, the near quiet rain playing in the background night air–a leggarto of notes from god’s fingertips–and the infinite stall of 80% Humidity, a constant hiatus, and the deep cerulean blue flame moving the wet air to sweat on neck and backs–it was time to feast. The corn cobs stripped their husky dresses, and onto the char grill, two mushrooms the size of a Parisian girls head were brought out into the middle, and on the char grill, onions quartered, wild capsicum, blankets of smoked garlic. Our stomachs empty from dancing, and we swarmed, teeth ready to eat like typewriter keys.
There was a small atmosphere of smoke closing above us like a soft coffin lid. And bird masks were caught by the edges from an upside down lamp light–and everyone on this great hot buzz of a balcony was below the in-human eye of the ‘PRADELLA’ neons a junkie sign atop of the small high rise blocking our view of the river–gawking nocturnal till dawn. Eugine, all hyped up with new earrings: “Gold plated man, such a trip, you can’t break it, It will look real good on you man, try it.” His whole face moving, this kid could never get a rest like his entire outfit–two tone blue jacket, white shorts, short red hair all jostling for attention.
I take the gold swirls with black polished stones in my hand and head to the bathroom, Kurt had swapped the bulb for a tacky blue one. You would feel like a junkie just taking a piss or washing your hands. And the gold looked darker and the black stone almost invisible against my brown hair.
‘I will definitely buy one’ I thought.