First Avenue

The mysterious love of this life
corrupts its very nature.
That’s why the body’s balance
fails upon rising.
A nickel in the slot comes out
a dime’s worth of lovely.
Measure yourself in a window
left open to gather the sun
like a day you would otherwise not see.
Why does love need more than life?
Why go into the reflection
as Cocteau’s Orphee disappeared
to find Eurydice?
Walk this street to find all the Hell
you need: women starved for a high,
men with a taste that leads to more,
children passing through
with nothing to spare,
and always the guardians
with their guns and clubs and smiles.
Vacancy signs. Boats astern,
awaiting corpses.
Where are the doors to Heaven?
Why do the great wings guard its gate?
Could it be this city is all you have,
the fires behind you everything you loved?
When will you be through
with this incessant, useless questioning?
Sit then. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Body rises, sways, steadies, is still, walks.

(9 August 2011)

copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander