Halle-Bopp
 
Charles tells tales of random Latin lovers
	Met in dark, dangerous doorways on a pirate island 
				off the coast of Mexico

Driving down Highway 91, Exit 5
 	in nowhere midnight Connecticut

Bessie Smith singing Gonna Get Me Some on the radio
			John in the back seat sings along with her.  

"Look! Next to the moon! It's the comet? See its tail?"
	"Oh yes, I see it"
			Faces pressed against the cool evening car window

The comet arcs over the sky 
			twinkling in microcosmic brilliance

"Charles, pull over please"

The station wagon smells of a haunted dog, blinkers flashing
				outside of New Haven. Beyond the dark rolling hills 

the hypodermic monument of St. Albertus Magnus
	on the top of the great chiseled cliff
		points its needle towards the open 
			hand of the five-pointed star

With his back to the car, John stands

He relieves himself 
	as the screaming engines race by him - 
			the comet blazes in tiny crazy white light
					through the purple wilderness
						just above his silhouette
				
balding head lit in the lantern- 
		glow of the moonlit March night

The halo ignores the comet 
	floating back towards the car

The Comet does not acknowledge 
	the broken monk praying in the evening
		on a planet covered with darkened stars

"It's getting quite chilly!"

The pale light shimmers coldly 
	the headlights of oncoming cars
				imitate the burning stars.

The darkness of the passenger seat
	imitates the poet, breathing unevenly
				singing along with Bessie Smith,
						in the back seat once again.