Wasser's photograph of Marcel Duchamp, Eve Babitz, and "The Large Glass

Imogen Cunningham's Magnolia Blossom (Click the Image)

Midnight Lover

When the walls fall into a Midnight crimson,
Dawn blends itself into Nocturnal intentions.
When the victimized Sight's supplanted for a
Dreamer's ear, I'll think of her.

And a crying whimper, a jealous blind eye
Where there corners of our world meet,
just a short walk down the burnt street,
A husband, A wife and three lovers,

With four ghosts all of feline transience,
with impatient omniscience and overeager...
Overeager canines, a tongue meant for tasting,
but clumbsy for speech. Speak; that's our love.

Speak sings our serenades, She joins our beds.
Speak loves our lies, She tips our trist.
Speak lives for the betrayals on which
She feasts. And She is our blood.
Splayed on these Crimson Walls.

Her walk is the shadowy limber swagger,
a feline knowing all to well, of her
nine lives. Shrouded and only comes to peek
its feline eyes, and paint our lives
in its red red lies.