in its den
the diva of the week with choreographed posse
a woman in Levi’s huffing cigars
installing smoke staircases joined at the hip
with last drink’s cigarettes

and sprinkled here and there
shadowy patrons, midnight silhouettes
polishing their signboards
displaying their wares

brass buckle sure the allure of their pushcarts
will mount the break wall, reach the basilica anyone’s basilica
and light all its candles, anoint them to flares

while baking the night roasting in its sanctuary
until cries of the south wind
coo languidly offshore

shadowy faces speckled in darkness
drenched in aberrations, placards they wore
two sizes ago, three holes down the belt

when flat stomach billboards
grilled hunger untamed
and strangers came to fondle
scratch their shaggy hearts

strangers spinning barstools
in the leftover morning
unfazed by their steeples
their promise of epiphany.


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