With Robinson at the Fairgrounds after Hours

With Robinson at the Fairground after hours

Robinson, your harrowing, gray-felt seclusion
the cat named Lonesome 
and red socks left in the sink,

come, let's walk arm in arm 
on trampled grass through the deserted stalls 
and stale smells of the workers' fires,
to a field of tents 
strung with a necklace of lanterns.  

The jewel stuck in my throat, dear Robinson 
I wish it was a pearl 
swirled from Aphrodite's mantle 
something to soothe, 

alas
it may only be this, 
a worthless bauble, a cabochon of fear.  

I say, “How hushed the gilded calliope 
parked under the massive oak and yet 
in the distance, I hear music.” 

“Something about gold, it sings to blackness.”

The smoke from the cigarette wreathes his head. 
Pigeons on the bridge fluff, 
pick fleas, coo,
our steps in unison, these dust covered shoes.  





after Mallarme