After rehearsal

a band of women
orchestrate their instruments
through studio doors
and shake into our night
where they’re right away struck
by the moon; it’s naked and
round tonight like
a drum of white fire

lust hangs from them
clear throats and heavy breasts
but they are only pretty so
I turn and strain my eyes
to make out dark things
on that spacious spot-lit snare
and think instead
of artists I know —
that I know of —
some beautiful and
handsome in their work
who wouldn’t look away
from skies like this
for anything short of
symphonic Armageddon

20130721-194555.jpgphoto Jo ©2013