Taking on the Local Color. Cynthia Genser

      Confessions

      And what did I, wretched I, love in you, you theft of mine, you sin in the night.

       —The Confessions of St. Augustine, Book 2, Chapter 9

      I’m usually a great

      dreamy beast,

      Giant,

      not Jack

      clambering to you.

      Who minded being small, sprawled

      across you?

      It was

      like leather,

      but with a

      fresher feel.

      It was like stealing.

      And who steals

      but a sad beast

      stealing itself?

      It throws its thievings

      to the river,

      like pears to pigs.

      That’s how I live,

      Giant,

      snuffling, some snouty thing

      with a silk scarf,

      with a bright eye

      and my boots,

      down by the river.

      I walked there, at 5,

      with a drugged smile

      and the whiskey

      dragging.

      I thought about you.

       And now let my heart

       tell you

      what it was looking for;

      the evil was foul,

      and I loved it.

       I loved

      destroying myself.

      Tell me, Giant

      does that go too far?

      You can say it.

      In the end it doesn’t matter

      if you love or hate me, only

      devastate me.

      FOR E.L.