by Kimberly Lyons

ISBN: paper: 1-887123-31-8

more poems by Kimberly Lyons


Chez Es Saada

Where is this place.  
But that's a sucker's question.
I mean really 
is it better to improve and
improve at a defined game
or to fuck-up
in continuous instances
in a situation only possibly 
a game

that broadens out
as you grimace in fun
at the so-called players
and realize by dint
of their unpremeditated
responses they are in actuality

not "playing" 
"that game"
but doing "something else"                                                                                             

And you did state
unequivocally that
there's so many places
just like this one

in fact, such
locations are invented
in a weekend.

In an intractable desert

roses in their cistern
by the wall

joyously perfume the air
with artificiality.

Perforated lanterns.

Memories collide

of this and that

and no one is able to
fully complete the other.

Billy, I think it was,
produced an egg from
his coat and fork 
from his hair.

And Susan poured an absinthe.

To undulate our arms in the Arabian style

as all of language clicks
into nested beads.

I don't want to
mess your hair up

said "the driver"

with the wind

something colder than it was

that drags in the
present moment

as though it were a
vintage mirror

nailed to the cement

a sensation
of the body

holds the picture to the air
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