Thursday, April 5, 2012

Dearborn Street

A minister, a playboy and a mercenary
of love ride the same trolley together,
awkwardly gazing and silently
     judging one another
with different definitions
     of missionary.
Cable car wheels roll with eyes past
The Everleigh Club. I feel a sinking smile
     crawling from my eyelids
to the guttered street. Pleasure winks
at me with silence- but it burns holes
in every pocket until there is nothing to take.
What would such love be like? Empty
     or a taste to form an appetite?
With nothing signaling to go
     I'd like to believe
In the clicks of heels and carnal faults
of freedom. I'd like to believe
     in Minna.

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