A Star

A star,

a brilliant ball

dawn

afternoon

dalliance:

You are like Donatello's David,

striking a vogue pose,

looking more bored after

than before.

How many nights I spent

simply looking at you

like you were a work of art.

Susan was so angry when I called her,

"The reincarnation of the AIDS."

She said I didn't have a heart and I said

Ditto.

I was so bored talking to these celebrated authors

who were like existential heros

waiting for the next moment to screw each other over.

More and more I began to miss

Asian silence

(overwhelmed or daggered).

I thought of travelling to Paris with you

and living among the skeletal  erotic,

phantoms of ages gone,

dilettantes of moods, milking me to be elegant.

Still, I could not bear to look at you for long

for your face was filled with understanding,

a smile that could coat torture

with human hands.

So I slept through the night

and imagined

another world

among the geese.