the stash

by Damon Hubbs

Love and liberation

         I’m still reeling

now that Tadzio’s dead Venice will never be the same.

Is Hölderlin holding the stash in the castle on Neckar?

Love among flowers, the middle of life

     like an archipelag  O

We inherit the party

the melancholy

of the lake,

     queers, gondoliers,

ancient blue stars

it’s the same old scene. 

I was young and rough with time

and you with your smug aristocracy, etc

reading the cosmonaut

of inner space. I can’t help

but get obscene

write a blank check to excess

Pulcinella, Moretta

      starve a cold

      starve a fever

      I tell the barber to dye my hair so I can fall in love at any time.

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