Saturday, January 15, 2011


This village is not on the map.
It is always velvet night here.

Phosphorescent jellyfish move inside
big glass globes atop the street poles.

Vague people walk deferentially,
not asking me why I am here.

Nothing will ever happen in this village.

This is where I will always be,
resolute amid the hushed velvet
of my long and ideal adoration.