The poets and the pornographers
meet in the same place
every night
after the city has emptied out.
Not the tourists
nor the police
can tell the
poets and pornographers
apart.
In fact,
the poets and pornographers
can barely tell
each other apart,
let alone notice
the absurdity
of the situations
that has brought them to this
state
of comraderie.
The pornographers
provide the cognac,
the poets bring
the cigars;
it's been like this for
longer than either
can remember.
Anything that happens
between the hours
of midnight and dawn
has no
precedent
and is decided on
a case by case
basis.
The poets and the pornographers
laugh at each other's
foibles, ticks, indiosynchrocies;
they admire the same women and men;
they mix freely,
judge each other solely
on moral grounds,
and enjoy the missing
hollows of each;
sometimes they even
crawl in.
The poets and the pornographers
often pair up, make love,
spend days, weeks, even years
only
to split apart and recombine
without wisdom or madness;
it is only the pornographers
that truly lament
the passing of time
while the poets
invite gray hair
and wrinkled skin.
The poets and pornographers
repeat, repeat, repeat
all the same mistakes
over and over again
proudly.
And often,
the poets and pornographers
cannot tell
who is who,
what is what,
where they were last year,
or even this morning.
(They switch sides all the time.)
The poets and pornographers
keep their own secrets,
agree to no memory,
fight each other to the death,
laugh at the rotting body's nakedness,
weep at the rising sun,
think everything of traffic and rain,
and meet in the same place
at the same time
each and every night,
but I'll never tell you
where this is.
Korea Town - Los Angeles 3/31/06
