Center of the Universe

It’s damp out there
& either damp or not in here
with drizzle bells & chapstick
& why not good & evil
                                                & the national debt
attaining that rarified number of the infinite
as in how many buddhas can park themselves
in the needle’s eye
                              perfected beneath a long flowing gown
made of quarter-inch steel & seaweed
& stepping out from behind that smokescreen
into thin layers of bluewhite haze back home in
Venice
              the pavement throbbing beneath your sneakers
beach traffic using up all the available metaphors
                              before you can wipe away the tears
questionable sunlight crumbling around you
It was always that way
              I was lucky to have been there
when will I ever leave?