You sent me the sweetest thing
In that package, grinning
up at me on my step-
had my name on it and everything-
how thoughtful! What a surprise!

Ok, I lied-
no package,
but now you know a desire of mine,
and it didn't cost me anything-
not even a stamp.

When Light spreads her fingers
Darkness dares not linger,
there's treason within their collision.
Ink black can't mold bread
while the sun bares her head,
but both cloud each others vision.
So neither can figure
what causes the trigger,
there's little room left for precision.
They both wait and pray
that the other's delayed
'cause neither can make a decision.

I'm sitting here trying
to perfect a tint.
Gotta find a shade that
blocks the harsh gazes,
keeps me cool
and matches my tired wheels,
but not too dark-
I'm not trying to to hide
and I want her to see me-
need her to feel comfortable
climbing aboard,
feel welcome
shotgun
Guess I really don't want
just anybody
peeking in to see
exactly what I'm wearing
on the inside.
In the end it's up to them though-
all they gotta do
is pull the handle-
because anyone that knows me
knows I keep my doors
unlocked.

The hour's absurd
not one foreign word
can be heard through these paper-thin walls.
The mosquitoes all sleeping,
I imagine them creeping,
convincing my Skin 'till it crawls.

I often wake up shivering
under the thin excuse
of a tapestry
I use as a bed sheet.
My naked body curls
its bones in a weak
attempt to make heat
for itself
by itself.
As my sleepy brains
struggle to freeze the week,
to make the morning gape.
Eventually I lift myself
and stumble over to the
roaring ac unit
and turn its knobs
At ease!
only to wake up within the hour
smothered in my own sweat,
my feeble solitary sheet
now a cheese cloth
and once again I stumble
over to the *******
and turn its knobs over again.
I play this game often
here in my simple apartment
in the midst of monsoons
and torrential brain storms.
To keep score would drive
me mad- make a poor sport
out of me.
Nobody ever wins anyways.
it's worse when I am in my bed
and not alone,
but so is another game
I find myself playing.
Too often I play a game
I like to call  "just one more cigarette"
-this game has a definite loser
and it's always definitely me.
This game keeps score without me:
the first one to 20 loses.

Sometimes if I tilt my head
back, with closed eyes, and let
the breeze pat me down,
while my concealed eyes gaze
at the bright pink bulb
of the sun somewhere above me-
sometimes, I slip beneath a spell
and my fully awake brain
cozies-up in the very familiar
quilt of a dream-
a dream that is unlike those
of a night's sleep,
foreign to a bed or even
a park bench,
a dream that lies not within
the past or future
or the realms of absurd
surrealism-
but instead a dream about
what is around me
at that moment-
everything unseen in its place,
faces I don't know remain
belonging to complete strangers
and the bus screeching to a halt
inches from my sandals
honks in panic at no one else
but me.

Outside I hear a mad sound-
savage throats making waves.
I only imagine the scene,
safe on the 4th floor
it sounds like monstrous dogs.
dogs that bite children,
scare police, and chew dumpsters.
They're looking to dominate, to mark,
to catch, and they're ready to bleed
and if they can't do these things
then they'll haunt.
they'll haunt me as I'm trying
to grind words 'till their powder is pure.
They'll chase away all want and need-
they're no more dogs than I.