Wednesday into Thursday morning.
It was in the provocation of the eyes.
A winter rain stripped the high windows,
illiterates fumbling at a halo of words.
Here, knowledge is an easy whore,
put out of business by the prudence
of an enemy who will not be soiled
by such an aphrodite of ideas.
Under a bell of garlic and dogshadow,
nose of sorrows to its uneasy sleep.
From under a foam of flowers Venus rises,
spine branded with desire, brinebright clitoral
scepter, eyes gray upon the
liquid reflection of Olympus upended.
Crocodile gods sleep beneath the
conquerors’ gardens.
In the Alhambra the prisoner opens a bottle,
watches the girl walk down the street,
eyes the spaces between the bars of his cage,
a different world in which she appears and passes,
walks by and doesn’t look back.
Hard-eyed border guard, poised
at the crossroads, a black market
Sten gun trained on the refugees.
Apollo busy beating the bounds
in his government-issue singlet,
Aryan gammadion grip above his bicep.
His accent is not seductive, yet they follow.