"Liberty Leading the People"
after Eugene Delacroix
The bulb under the bridge is broken. It dangles,
unfixed. Unsolved. Unlike the coaxed French I save
up for foreplay. Don't mistake a poem for brisk rave
or plodded etude wherein two fors give rise to a right.
I don't believe in just desserts, or talking mammals
who've resisted depravity, or prayers to shorten an accident's
life. After papercuts, we remember scars wrong. Sometimes for money.
Sometimes while playing an accordion in the park near your house.
Cold leche of marble countertops under my hands
dicing green onions, luscious leeks. A man without a home knows
the rich lie of our liberalism. I share wine freely with friends
but the mouth wants chocolate, the mouth
wants bayonet and bonnet,
bodice fallen to the waist.