Social Depravities

The quivering of a pale Autumn moon,

fat and bloated against the black sky oil,

releases slivers of yellow light floating down,

like the fluff of clothes discarded at the Laundromat.

The night sky is stippled with a thousand

tiny, muted, tumbling specks of grit.

A hundred stars are tense with painted light,

their points are vaguely burning like

the stark yellow glow of neon signs

all along the boulevard, unveiling the stitches

that keep society close-clasped together.

The pale froth of frost and wind is brushed

across the distant balcony of mountain,

like the swathe of fur and snow

worn by the whore down the street.

Between the haven of desire and the palace

of retreat, the swollen aches of hunger

go unnoticed to their graves,

like the children of errant disregard,

who make their feast of Love and Hate

and gorge their minds in Pleasure.

The flesh is turned inside out again,

rivulets of rubies streaming downwards

and muscular paths of flesh growing blue,

the arteries clogged by wanton greed

and the spiky texture of unfolded skin

lie like reminders of our holy desire.

The moon is shining pale above the trees,

the Buddha smiles down upon us

as the light of stars reaches through

and over the neon signs of strip bars

and hostels and cheap, soiled restaurants,

where the snow is cold and the bosom colder

of that prostitute who speaks broken Spanish.

The red cross has formed help centers

for all the broken, unwanted children

and all the men who die in hungry jobs.

The city is revealed –

conduits and streets, highways and byways

congested by the traffic of disease.

Turned inside out, we might reveal

a darker view of the city

disgorged from the heart

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