Tuesday, February 20, 2007


Golden shoes
and lace
on a bony knee
of aged Sundays
and pearls
around necks of
sagging flesh
in excitement
for the procession
of shared solitude.

Behind the ardent rows
the beauties
No need yet
for this wait
that brings out
the saints.
Their time is the night
the fiesta of the flesh
forgotten the
Carne vale
of their mothers in the street.


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