YEARS AGO
As a little kid, when I first saw Seattle's Space Needle, I was stunned!
Sleek, sweeping arcs announcing the Space Age--
Why, it was so advanced and cool, The Jetsons ripped it off!
My cowboy suit was clearly passé.
The future had arrived.
It was the first time I'd ever been moved by pure architecture. We rode
The oval, seed-pod elevators up to the rotating restaurant high above Seattle.
What a view! Mt Rainier's snows floated over the city
Like a guardian angel's wings. As we snacked and gawked,
Lost in the view, my mom's purse stealthily crept three tables away.
You see, the window ledge she'd innocently laid it on was structural, not rotating like
Us. A Zen lesson I never forgot. Keep your eyes open, for even inanimate
Things can creep out from under you...
TONIGHT
I dream I'm a little kid again, in 1962, at the Seattle World's Fair.
Only this time, amid the high-tech wonders, stands a...
Girl? Ghost? Spirit? Standing there sky-clad.
Seems like only I can see her--the crowds walk by as if blind.
My viewpoint is about level with her thighs or even knees, no higher.
Either I'm a very small kid indeed, or she's a giant.
Her bold stance, legs spread, echoes the swagger of the Needle.
Though slender, she feels as monumental as the tower.
I line them up exactly. A flawless fit! They nearly fuse into one strange figure.
Tan, red, woman, tower...
It's particularly kinky when one of the seed-pod-elevators crawls up between her legs
And disappears, seemingly up her cunt.
Looks like they're making love--up, down, in, out...
"Ooh!" she purrs as a pod climbs inside her. "OH! OH!"
How on earth does she get away with this?
She's making mad architectural love
To the Space Needle
In the heart of the World's Fair!
She stretches, reaches for the stars.
Red magma thrusts up into white volcanic breasts.
The seed pod enters the chamber...
And I float there like a wondering ghost,
Gawking at my first architectural love,
Realizing only now:
Its wonderful futuristic sweep
Is really,
Was always really
The oldest shape of all.