Damon Hubbs

Submarine

I trace the influence
of the Renaissance 
in your face
which is not 
so much a style 
as a way of living. 
The dawn of perspective 
in doom town. How sad, how 
lovely, like death 
laying an egg 
in a trashy movie.  
I’m deep red. 
You’re sprawled on the couch 
with your clit out.  
I mistake it for a bird 
at first, and then a pink sweater 
and then a monastery 
on a hill overlooking the sea 
where a submarine blips 
like a latticed halo.