The Hunt

Raquel Welch in white bikini
in the pre-Cambrian seas
oozes onto the shore.

As she walks, pebbles knock each other down,
sunlight hammers its own disk
into a grotesque flatness.

She smiles into the dizzying sky
which avoids the shrunken wind,
the wind fights back with open legs.

It has been Artemio’s dream,
hell, it has been
every man’s dream.

In a rush to impregnate every female,
we get trapped by the pleasure
that simmers at the hand,

galloping antelope distract us,
spears froth in our direction,
and it is no longer clear who or what we are.