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Carlton Hotel, Cannes, France
by Laura Ryder
The sun throws its hot saber blade
across the promenade,
blistering the ancient arms
of tall palms and people�s minds.
Men and women march to the beat
of the waves, disappearing
into the scorched Mediterranean air.
The Riviera consists of nothing
but exceptions,
rules are exceptions to the exceptions.
Money flows like champagne,
beauty reigns.
My knees find no altar
before which to bend.
There is much to love and hate;
doubt ebbs like the tide.
A man watches me from his balcony.
What is true is that every view
is significant for him who sees it.
I light a cigarette and stare at the sea.
The silver grey smoke waifs towards him.
I want a state of creative suspense.
I step out of my dress.
I want to take and give myself over.
I want what is immediate and self-evident.
I relate to all things.
I remove my bra and panties.
A work of art conducts
a creative dialogue with the onlooker.
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Carlton Hotel, Cannes, France is copyright 1999 by Laura Ryder