there were candles on pedestals,
    plants on altars, gold chalices filled
    with flat bread hosts and sweet wine,
    censers dangling from tarnished

    silver chains, holy-water in marble
    bowls mounted on entrance walls,

    Step away from the edge. Do not jump.
    Entertain the rogue.
    Pour yourself a scotch.
    For your guest, a dry martini.

    i drift and daydream
    about a man i met
    yesterday in the drugstore.

    craving the feel of a trashy paperback
    romance, the bodice-ripping kind found
    on shelves in the supermarket checkout line

    they follow like agents
    garbed in black suits
    and dark glasses, even
    when the moon's out.

    because they breathe and bleed
    dark pansies and petunias
    gyrate color in hot air
    engorged, they pulse and lie still.