by Les Gottesman
Cold is the breeze of concussion
at first, a sucking cube, city-size
of 3-dimensional litter, while
the guitar player is beautiful without eyeballs.
Infected vampire bats are
unremarkable compared to
the shocking horror of what I am
a part of, but the guitar player is beautiful without eyeballs.
With history this close to close I say to her: Stay away. Stay cool.
Maybe the burning city is a torch song to the love we made.
In a shale nightgown her skin rises to the needle’s tooth.
The guitar player without eyeballs is beautiful.
Les Gottesman’s poems have appeared in print and online journals and magazines including Juked, FutureCycle, Anamesa, Beatitude, Harper’s, Antioch Review, and Columbia Review. He received an MFA in Writing from California College of the Arts in 2011 and has been a teacher in San Francisco for over 30 years.
photo by Joanie-21