Laura in her crazy woolen bikini told me to show her my consigliore,
that’s how she called it, my thing; my wife used to call it the Sun,
whatever, the night before that during a walk I fell, badly bruising the shaft
and now that sweet girl wanted to help me, but around us were many people--
God! Sometimes I wish everybody would suddenly vanish in rapture
if only I could be left behind on a Sicilian beach with a few naughty girls--a hundred!
I’d reorganize the way things work down here, I'd change the ethos
and soon little kids swimming and fishing, they would all have understood
Jesus’ original message: that unless we care for each other there is no freedom
from hell on Earth, from the cruel demons that burn us round the clock…
I don’t know how I’d do it, maybe it wouldn’t last, and we’d end up enslaved
by some putrid queen (maybe Laura?) obsessed with gold cups and precious tea...
I guess I’d try to keep everything simple, bread and wine, a weekly oblation
to some deity with whom nobody could talk to like if it was a friend on the phone--
anyway, what am I talking about? I showed Laura my wound, it wasn’t monstrous
but somebody saw us; cops came who asked the girl for her documents…
(she was sixteen)
that’s how she called it, my thing; my wife used to call it the Sun,
whatever, the night before that during a walk I fell, badly bruising the shaft
and now that sweet girl wanted to help me, but around us were many people--
God! Sometimes I wish everybody would suddenly vanish in rapture
if only I could be left behind on a Sicilian beach with a few naughty girls--a hundred!
I’d reorganize the way things work down here, I'd change the ethos
and soon little kids swimming and fishing, they would all have understood
Jesus’ original message: that unless we care for each other there is no freedom
from hell on Earth, from the cruel demons that burn us round the clock…
I don’t know how I’d do it, maybe it wouldn’t last, and we’d end up enslaved
by some putrid queen (maybe Laura?) obsessed with gold cups and precious tea...
I guess I’d try to keep everything simple, bread and wine, a weekly oblation
to some deity with whom nobody could talk to like if it was a friend on the phone--
anyway, what am I talking about? I showed Laura my wound, it wasn’t monstrous
but somebody saw us; cops came who asked the girl for her documents…
(she was sixteen)
::: ::: :::
[Picture: Beach by reading_is_dangerous]The above poem is my entry for this week Blogging for Charity’s challenge which included the following eight words: consigliore, shaft, rapture, ethos, freedom, enslaved, oblation, and monstrous. Because I like the number 8, I decided to double it by chosing 8 more words at random in a book on Rauschenberg I got yesterday from a friend who received it from R.R. himself. Those words were: sun, people, hundred, understood, clock, tea, phone, and documents, picked up in that order.
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