Club X, Before the Bridges Lift (Two Views)
Between the gaping double-doors of Club-X and two leather thugs,
a cardboard babe hoists head-sized steins before each suggested breast.
I want to enter, be hauled into the mouth, haul it all into my mouth.
Mandelstam: the way Tatars bathe their horses, lower your eye into what will
be. Across the street, at Neva’s edge, a local artist watercolors the
Palace bridge, its wings splaying to twilight. Remember the eye—a noble,
but stubborn animal. The river’s colors blur with each stroke, bleed into
shore. The waters rise. Everything wants to be flooded. Every empire
dies, entering its own dilated eyes.