Saturday Set

Blood and Rain - a fictional piece

The clouds opened up at the bullring
this afternoon in Madrid wind came too
blowing gusts like sheets across the streets and
sideways into the crowd.

If you think there is nothing like the smell
of late afternoon rain in the spring, like
lilacs mature in bloom
then there is just as equally
nothing like the smell
of fresh blood in wet sand.

      *            *            *            *            *

I’m Writing About You

We’ve shared a lot of sunsets
you and I, we’re contemporaries
in our time
this one no more special than the last
only documented and warmer
since I hold you closer.

We’re both happy the day is at its end -
people go home!
and you’re left glossed in a heavenly blue-gold
while I just kind of gasp at the mix
    ambient steel drum and sax
    a light foot tap with bells around your ankle
    lifting up to feathery clouds.

A stranger is curled up tight beside me
reading Ahora Yo
Now Me    some kind of self help
    she’s spanish and beautiful, and I think
    she’s been hurt before.
        I wish she’d smile.

She’s dark too.  I know those eyes
like black diamonds up close
but she maintains looking serious and sad
focused on Me
gets up and walks away.
        I just wish she’d smile.

We’re in our best hour
I, haggard and so under-slept I’m depressed
but you picking it up for both of us
with the warm hues and haze
        (paint sound like it’s light
        paint darkness like it’s cold)
my ear is exploding with the gush of a kiss
like all the beauty that is love
the rarest and most pristine thing in the world.
I imagine you all have a lot in common.