0 a goat of a moon being suckled of milk in the dark cave of the universe

in your side-car, audrey hepburn head-wrap
large dark sunglasses and all, we passed decks of cards
stacked like italian villas dipping in and out of
mediterranean curves, you released the latch

and began painting me, a portrait in polaroid,
atop a high-wire in the clouds, balancing your easel
on the far side, watching me come hither
foot over foot, stopping occasionally for a plie
in my windblown blue suit, arms outstretched, you saw
my feet tremble, my body tremble, you watched me

become a single red blurb, a misplaced one sixth of one
sixth of your rubik's cube, a red mushroom cloud
in an almost sea of green, a wet spoon on your time magazine

--Jonas P., 35