by Sam Hutchings
Think of some Platonic dialect you never read.
Think haggard wooly-beard Neanderthal lookin’
Motherfucker clawing his way from The cave,
eyes baptized by revelations of wonder, the sun
A nipple of light in the Sky. Think some Columbus-god,
raw unseen earth curving over gauzy horizons, a green
Blouse to be lifted, awaiting to discover a strangers
caress. Think midnight street-sweepers bristling against the
City’s black industrial bosom, kissing warm pavement,
sewer-caps like metallic areolas. Think Ms. Schoppel, 5th grade,
Plush emerald sweater, the drip of pearls sliding beneath a
river of flesh, pebbles like freckles, ripples of desire. & Think
A young boy strolling foreign sands, the taste of salt that lingers,
watching the world pass by through his mother’s fingers.