Contradiction

Contradiction

I am the source of your quizzical looks.
I am a contradiction, the only constant

of our late-night discussions.
In a Mexican cafe we topple over musings
of art and music; where is Picasso the dog pissing now?
What wall has he meandered to?

Would you tear down the Aztec eye,
the distorted sun? Would you step around the orange moon,
plastered on this mosaic?

Only you would let urine rain on our ruins,
our bohemian landscape.

You are the source of my quizzical looks.
You are a contradiction, my slender constant.

8/2004