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Collected Poetry
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Passion Eddy
Book two of impromptu trilogy.
Mange du fromage avec Frank O'Hara
Your St. Christopher had tangled in your chest hair and I offered to help you free him from that. We were playing gin and tossing the discards like scarlet ships upon the ocean's swells. Then some bullies kicked sand in our faces, thus enlivening our simple repast; the cries, the screams, the attentive gulls. All we wanted was to be young and to stand naked with them all, knowing what we know now on the uprising and gleefully animated beach— small, pale nipples on the men, the thickened hips the girls swung about, beach balls, and a few grains of sand enough to satisfy our chasmed modesties. back | ToC | next
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