by Daniel Pujol
The Rio De Digiorno
I have no idea where I am going,
On the churning waters
Of my immediate motley desire
Anything I can want
Right now is in grasp:
Who I am right now, wants what’s next.
Is he really sailing?
Or barging toward
The shiniest-everything within reach?
Is it the sun beating down
That makes me so weary?
Or am I just bored of being in tandem with me?
As years drift by,
The seasons never change.
The sun has left him crisp like a bathing lizard.
He smells the air
With his tongue, eyes slit
Beneath sunglasses, he whips his tail on the deck
He is the true creature of desire,
Yet will die soon as winter comes
For the water is too cold
To sun rocks to bathe on.