The Transamerica Pyramid is an old Gypsy
who reaches up to rob the sky of its planets.

The Transamerica Pyramid is an old Gypsy—
I want to hear him sing
the wandering tune
of his footsteps.

I want to swim
in his eyes of distilled sunflower.

The Transamerica Pyramid is an old Gypsy
veiled in quartz.
I want to see his picture in the newspaper
His big lips enter
my blue consciousness.

I want to spear the old Gypsy through the liver
with a wooden knife,
watch him bleed,
so that we know he is alive
and a Gypsy woman birthed his great body.

issueONE >fiction< >nonfiction< >poetry< >visual< >ebook< >paperback<