Kalli Stone

Waiting for Freud’s Utopia

Never could I feel

The dangle-dangling of that pendulum

Between my legs,

That timepiece that tells me of my next nightly visit.

Slouching, jeans tight around hanger-thin thighs,

Gracing the pavement with my worn soles,

Smoking with a James Dean cool

Squint in my eyes,

Taking a girl

To the movies and the heady,

Slick nights of a Casanova,

My soul lying out for her

To pick apart like the white-winged pipers of the sea.

Late-night howls to the moon,

Feeling its silver over the fifty states,

Delirious, feral.

I’m starving

And shocked

With electric bullets of insanity,

Our eyes flowing with red rivers and white currents.

No, that particular holiness

I’ll have to wait for in the next life.