My palm would press into the small of your back
as the past hundred years collapsed into a pile
of mirrors and buttons and frivolous shoes,
-Billy Collins
Sandy towels and sleazy girls
Whiplash music purring
cheap beer awash in the sun
horseshoes and fizzles
and wealth displayed
in ears and noses and teeth
Shes got a swagger in the way she smiles
talking of art and New York as if it isn't terrifying
as if it doesn't send shiver
revived by the wind
as if today could have done without
the future
The Sun should have stayed
frozen at its apex
painted blue eyes smearing
heat-lamp reeling
artificial euphoria
suspended
