Gloria on the Mediterranean
She rode a silver Suzuki wrapping her legs around
her separated Apollo
May 28, 2003
Momentarily Gloria swallowed the diamond. She stayed until the
diamond reemerged through the usual channels on the beach with a
Dunhill lighter. And it was no longer what you'd call a yellow diamond
then she frizzed her hair to look like Spanish wine flickering by
She ate chocolate and kept a piece on her tongue to show tinkering
with a porno film ha ha ha.
Gloria managed a quiet giggle as she rode a silver Suzuki wrapping
her legs around her separated Apollo Fillipa filled with green Spanish
olives and toasted almonds drinking Cava from the fountainhead in
the form of a cokerel at the great mosque in Cordova.
Still flourishing in a gold rojo inlaid Persian pencase of the
mogul Emperorer Shah Jahan she served capichino at Cafe Arte on
Calle Pintor Sorolla in May with orange blossoms in the air.
Short of breath she went up the hill toward the Arte Cafe lavender
rosemary and sage plenty of time in Calpe the force that through
the green goddess released the flower said
Dylan Thomas filled with men from Senegal and Granada.
Cellophane wishes were the worst sign of split bark angst after
a Casablanca kiss in an empty bed with Spanish eyes black lashes
licentious licks of waves and wounds held together with paper5 clips
and wire hangers. She powdered herself with Maja perfumed powder.
Spring rain on the 4 Mediterranean a blue lamp on the table autobiographical
fiction she was an escape artist from pale Calpe. She took the bed
out of the closet.
A little flamingo with songs from Barcelona a fresh lobster in
a boat pulled in by Spanish fisherman underr circling white seagulls
inside -out a lot of rot she'll think about tomorrow.The pace of
the fisherman's boat at Porto Calpe oh dios grant me she said one
perfect windy night on the Mediterranean with my Spanish fisherman.
She mended his nets vunerable dissolving into sails close to the
wind by the Moorish Queen's pool in absentia.
Pink carnations mystical roses wicked pirates covered with flea
bites and rats ah shit barely Espana the moon on the Mediterranean
turning cheap thrills on the beach melting into the night of quiet
stars captive in Calpe two hours from Valencia. The orthodox bus
hissing stops at Porto Calpe a fishing village turning and mooning
its flabby ass at the Rock Ifach.
A candle in front of a photograph of Gloria naked but for a marajuna
necklace black clothes on the floor engaged in a sexual act with
the big fisherman full of sperm feverish speculation as to the identity
of the man revealed to be Omar Khayyam.
In warm rain she finally got her fook from Fillipa in Calpe desperately
needed. After that it all went like clockwork for Gloria on the
CALPE - &%$·"!? - ESPANA
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