Route 7 Review - Page 36

The Dark Side of the Moon By William Doreski Your S & M shop bustles. Handcuffs, dog collars, whips and chains. Leather goods: cowhide straps and thongs, calfskin trousers, vests, and bras. Tourists from the Marriott and Sheraton hotels browse for Boston souvenirs. They like what they see, and buy quantities to bring home to friends in Nebraska. Snow dusts the sidewalks. Small dogs, firmly leashed, sniff at the gutters. Homeless men with cardboard signs beg for cash to convert for food enough to fuel another day. The sky’s a golden illusion. It illustrates the cold with florid little gestures, cosmic intentions that apply only to the rich. Skyscrapers nuzzle this complex of weather and faith. Their windows glow with happy excess. Maybe some of that exertion, that fervor, fumes from the sexual excitement your products induce in psyches that otherwise would go adrift. The pallor of January resolves into naked cries and whispers that shape passions we never knew in our past lives. Your cash flow, jangling like a carillon, warns me not to approach you as I used to, but to buckle up a new self