* * * * *
GODESS FACTOR
she did not ask to be beautiful
- a shadow that moved
effortless through the fog
but she understand how to use it
perfectly.
* * *
BOX-SCORES
it is no use praying
to a god that has forgotten
your language.
Olympus or Calvary -
the headstones are little more
than tourists attractions
or targets for the local punks.
in another time
the old man on the bench
would have been considered a prophet,
even if he does misunderstand
that the purchase of hookers in the park
is not another name for passion.
& i watching the sunrise,
read the box-scores in newspapers
25 years old, wondering
if the managers really understood
their place in history.
* * *
CINNAMON EYES -after Charles Baudelaire
remembering your cinnamon eyes
i cup my hands
to caress the fog
of what you have become.
my passion is rust
without the lubricant of dreams.
the only thoughts allowed here
involve economics
& production quotas.
call me when there is ice
on your window sill
& the winter cold captures
your heart.
send old dreams
on the wings of blackbirds,
or starlings.
i will find a way
to unravel the magic
of their songs.
* * * *
(c) Kenn Mitchell, 2001