Rio

The more I sit here (trying to “work”), the more I day-dream back to those beautiful beaches in Ipanema…. A taste for you:

Rio

We left the airport to stay another night. Pedro made the tear and
it began.

It began under my tongue and bitter.
It began with foaming waves and coconut water,
all in moving melted samba.

For unknown hours we tasted the night unfold:

Wild with eyes wide, seeing the night as cats do,
we scratched the underbelly of the city, that dog—
the main streets littered with impudent debauchery, the back streets
littered with impudent poor. We graffiti artists,
my foreign eyes like a Pollack on the skyline.

For unknown hours we were the universe and
Rio was the star matter, the dust, the space, the
alpha and omega. Then, oh,

A breeze, a walk, a bed,

and sandy feet lying hot with Pedro.
My body buzzed; my eyes darting around the lights.
Outside the moon howled low and full around the Cristo.
Inside the breathing sounded like an animal alive,
so steady it stalked, up and down.

In minutes, we were bathed in the smallest
sliver of light forcing through the blinds.
We fed our grumbling bodies with ham and cheese and coffee.

Outside the streets burst busy with the day—
the buses snorted; the waves slithered.

5 thoughts on “Rio

  1. Rich images and unexpected moods, sleeping with sandy feet make this the poetic equivalent of a page-turner. (I was kind of confused by the first line's “Pedro made the tear”, not sure if it was meant to be “tea” or whether this was a drug phrase I'd not heard before.)

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