EIGHTH STREET

No faces these

Eyes averted,

catching fleeting analyzing glimpse

of crotches

outline bare in chino pants

buttocks muscle firm

enticing, unattached.

Bed to bed

in fruitless search for

comfort

arms that never loosen

in the dark to touch

another thigh.

Heads sans features

bury in the night

to taste the womb of Mother.

2 poems

by Carol Bradford

DOWNTOWN WALKUP

The writhing twisting thighs entwine

Teeth and nails

their mark impress

to toss the blind idolators

from one embrace

into the next.

The years are marked

by mattresses

and faceless eyes avert

the momentary conquest thrills the tearlogged hours

of hurt.

19