read the (fine) print

tripping through phrases over margaritas masked
by salt (and vinegar) and strawberry molasses next to the view-finder
and the organic salsa and chips in mod-deco china (hand-painted)
i allowed your hand to brush over mine with a single stroke
between tequila-lime gestures and through and past hazy
Camel-filtered air disallowing proper (interaction) conversation

until silence protruded through the previous carbonation of wine and conversation
began to paint itself line by line between two strangers (masked)
in the company of allies and alcohol leaving space (making room) for a hazy
atmosphere where outlines (of unions) could be seen through the viewfinder
of the 35 mm resting in repose on a three-legged table plagued by one stroke
of a bottle to its surface causing ring-worm nearly hand-painted

circles melted into the table where hand-painted
pottery from Peru and Paraguay sat in the midst of social conversation
coloured like red clay from Kentucky (but not) all in one brush stroke
a connection was found (previously masked)
between the scripture of small talk and the snapshots of the view-finder
i held fast to keep my thoughts from filtering off into the hazy

places where lines of proper and improper modes of misconduct fill hazy
containers with their nonsense like the hand-painted
portraits of clowns from that serial killer guy (i wish i found him in my view-finder)
that gave us such a topic of truly satirical conversation
that nite when we sat beside alcohol and allies and the masked
capabilities of finding common bonds in strangers across rooms in one stroke

to the heart or the groin knocking out butterflies and red faces with one stroke
of a hello how are you conversation turned complex and complete all at once leaving hazy
smoke-filled thoughts to rush over bowls of organic chips and salsa and margaritas masked
behind an excess of Jose Cuervo and salt-rimmed plastic seated next to hand-painted
dish room creations (we talked about those too) melding yellows oranges purples and golds into conversation
while elbows rested on oak tables with ring marks melted into them and the view-finder

filling the imagined scrapbook as hours turned to years and the view-finder
into a simple reminder of the Santa-Fe themed nite built with one stroke
of a wand to the air and the Three Sisters in conversation
over when and where or if even to cut the thread of the knot just tied, filing hazy
mornings away into ‘dates to remember’ nites writing in manuscript cursive (hand-painted)
journals of the evening spent amongst colours (of conversation) and compatriots (un-masked)


04.28.02