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Romance At An OPS Convention By Harvey Goldner She came by train from the muddy little town of Amnesia, Mississippi, to the City of Brotherly Money, delicate city of glass the colors of the rainbow, for the centennial convention of the Oceanic Poetry Society. She sat beside me at the long white table of temptation in the crystal ballroom of the Cash Flow Hotel, and we shared a big pink fish. The final and featured poet of the evening, wearing a white linen suit stolen from the estate of the late god of a Baptist tribe, read three selections through a combination microphone and Geiger counter: Death is a Snap, America Is the Lost Continent of Atlantis, The Inevitable Marriage of Russia and India. After the reading we were drawn to mingle with the people, yes, the people and the police. She stood beside me on a sidewalk at the busy intersection of Rhyme and Reason, where the traffic lights are always green in every direction, resulting in frequently applauded, sharp, bloody noises. She lay down beside me at midnight on the terrace of the Black Mirror Motel, which overlooks the Black Mirror River, which flows down from the Black Mirror Mountains. From the top of the bluff, we listened to the babbling of the skull in the moon. In her blue diamond dress she looked like a springer spaniel, but naked on the grass she looked like God. |
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Document last modified on: 12/03/2006