301/365: The Pornographic Curio Cabinet
From up in the sky
through my plane window,
I remember all of you —
the drunk with eyes that rolled like marbles,
the mocking waiter,
the woman with the sidelong looks in the thin girls store —
and I feel I can love you now.
We're all safe from each other here,
far away and abstract,
tucked up into the fog of memory,
but as I look you over, it becomes clear:
you are fuel for my sense of magnanimity,
pinned beneath the glass of my backward gaze,
a pornographic curio cabinet,
and even this self-flagellation
is its own pleasure.
I am writing one poem every day in 2016, and I am using the hashtag #365poems to document my progress.