She was a diva doused in diamonds, deep scarlet, black sable,


this much I could feel, this much I was sure of.


Blank-eyed, my head titled forward, out and down.


My perspective was a hawk’s eye view of Hades.


Fifty-third and third - use to be my corner when I was fourteen.


Amongst the littered streets of Chelsea,


Sheridan Square, Christopher Street, the pier, the trucks,


my old neighborhood over off bank street by HB studios,


lay debris, detriment, and minced miniature genitalia of yesterday’s


used-up action figures greeting good morning through hazed petrol-glassed,


excremental eyes - and dick-less. But I felt her. Immediately.


And my fantasies flew wild! Just as the falcons on fifth avenue do


when the pigeons fly their loops.


I raised my head as fast as her black satin heel had hit the curb,


but she tricked me. Now, there’s a switch! Fool me once, shame on me.


I was sure she was the one, all mine. She made me feel that way.


I was played like an old whore after Mardi Gras.


In the first moment, being mortal, I suffered profoundly,.


In the next moment, my blank stare became starry as I gazed in wonder


at her eyes darting to and fro, her gold-leafed head turning circles.


I wondered how she did that? Then those eyes! Those eyes;


oscillating, glitter-opticals illuminating my barren heart.

03/01/2008

Posted on 03/01/2008
Copyright © 2025 Scott Utley