In the Pictures

the western we'd star in
would have a horse
and a setting sun
the kind of sun that burns your eyes
when you look for the horizon
and you would be a cowboy
but not the John Wayne kind
you'd be the silent extra
the actor with the bent jaw line
and pouch of tobacco
I would wait for you
on a saloon veranda
but not like the good whore
who needs to be rescued
I’d be the sheriff's sister
just in from the East
a girl with an embroidered heart
and sad eyes you'd notice
just as the curtain closes

New website

Rick finished my new website - it is gorgeous. I'm dancing here.

Check it out:

www.aleahsato.com

House

Your house is place of mirrors
and carnivals.
A yellowing wedding gown hangs
next to a trapeze.
Cobwebs have covered
the windows.
A fortune teller
hides behind the lace
of the mind's eye –
Yes, you
are the keeper
of strange things :
the miniature menageries,
the obese mermaid,
the sperm whale and
two-headed Madonna.
Summers have passed;
boys have grown.
A shrill train
whistle
inhabits. You
are aging. Your
hands shake as
you try and operate
the key.
In the basement, you
fix a pigeon wing,
a cat's misplaced
leg. You bleed for
small things
no one knows or
misses. And when
you leave,
the darkness pulls
back its possession.