Mystery Babylon
Let’s say it’s 6. a.m.
Atlantic sunlight squeezing through bloodred curtains
flooding the apartment (one room,
mattress expiring on the floor in a coma
of sweat & come & wine) I say
flooding the apartment in 900 candlepower
photolust beams of, ah: floating crystals
of erotic
light, yah
brilliant fuzzy dice
of night undoing
gravity in the
windless room
flooding the apartment of the rock goddess
(after 4 hours of hot grinding
having a coma of her own)
I’m sneaking downstairs
into cool dawn
lonely in time
lonely for time
hung up in time
time must be demystified
&
I refuse to enter the 21st Century.
