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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.