A Warhol Postcard

said art is anything you can get away with.

It was laying on the hotel bed as I walked in

and all afternoon I swear it begged for a story.

Warhol would have loved the way I experience

Las Vegas: quietly. Just letting the light disburse,

diffuse, drift round and round and round me.

So much of the scene in this city goes unused –

I’m just in the bathtub flipping through Warhol’s

biography realizing I could get away with staying

quiet. I could slip on Warhol’s mood – be as still

as a day spent petting his pussy and talking

to his mommy. I spend the afternoon sitting in

different chairs of the same room. I watch the

light change the universe, change the narrative,

change the perspective and change nothing.

Suddenly doorknobs appear to the rooms where

I keep small secrets hidden. I think I hear children

crying and the music of carousels, I think I smell

the seaside resort where my parents took me

as a child. Nothing has happened all day except

the sun’s shadow ricocheting off Mandalay Bay

and painting the city a cheap shade of gold.

I change into a dress made for a girl.

I watch the animals at the club go round

and round and round. I wait for the world

to go quiet so I can write this down.

VICTORIA