In the back of a polish bar we sat

Smoking a foreign brand of cigarettes my lips had never touched
smoking until we ran out.

Me, pretending to be eccentric.

coy

laughter

closing the gaps between the continents we were born
surely we will bring pangea back to her glory

This is my favorite song, I say.
grace is serenading me from across the world

we inch closer together
the warsaw wood panels start to cave us in
i have forgotten about everyone else

Palms glide up thighs
wheat beer slides down the tongues
that wait to interlace

i listen to your kaleidoscope of syllables
we, in your native land, speak in my foreign tongue
i apologize for that.


we are alone in this room, i think.
the night's corners are creeping in
as quickly as our bodies braid.

            our warszawa flame flickers.

we escape to a dark corner so only strangers surround us
i hate to admit i'm a little ashamed
      (i know you have been wanting my curves
            you know i have been weary)

What is that? You look, point, start to read
But i innterrupt your eyes and whisper saul's secrets to you myself

it's all about the delivery you see
or
        maybe i am trying to find a reason to get closer to you

It's my second favorite, I say

What's your first?
I breaststroke back through your canals and reveal Julian's utopian paradise,  peeling back the drapes of the boards that built me
I kiss these memorized words into your ear

You are surprised to hear a ***** poem,
Laced with ***** and ***** that catch you off guard
I watch as the ballad sinks into your shoulders

I can tell you have never been with a girl who gets turned on by poems.
          
Your arms sing higher around my hips
Grips grow tighter
Perhaps this is the first time you have been turned on by a poem.



am i what you expected?

It started with a pill.
Prescribed for an injury that ****** up a whole football season
A sixteen year old boy fed oxy like a toy.
Take one when there’s pain its okay one at morning one at night one to make you sleep and you’ll be alright
Make the pain go away.
The injury healed and the prescription stopped but that didn’t stop the incessant pop
A slow downhill decline into the depths of his mind burying each moment he wished he could rewind.


He sold his strings to feel like he had wings
He found new **** to strum.

His fingertips found a new numb.

Keeping it dark hiding all the time reassuring ourselves
He’s fine he’s fine everything is fine.
We were blind to  see he lost all sense of reality

Oh, Brother put it down Brother.
Judas is making you believe you were one not meant to have real dreams
When our gazes meet the red ants in your eyes do not deceive me they bleed me crawling over the inflated mountain tops of black tar smoke
your pupils cower from the weight and choke

Our eyes used to be the same color, Oh, Brother.
Where are your pigments now, Oh, Brother?

The leeches you inject are ******* you up pounding through your bloodstream they are ******* you up wake up wake up wake up wake up.

You woke up.

Father bought back your strings
We asked you to cut ties from the bags and the lies
Because hopeless waiting became too much
We wanted to get in touch
and rock bottom is not a bed you can lie in forever,
too long and the gravel seeps like spikes into your spine
too long and your body is but of stone
empty and cold

Oh, Brother. Our mother almost lost you
Was almost a second-generation mother to lose her daughter’s big brother.
Because one thing can lead to another,
Oh, Brother.

Three years ago four words crossed the threshold of my ear lobes and hypnotized me into a comatose state. only to be awaken by the sound of their sweet puncturing i rewinded these words with hungry haste
rewind rewind
play
these words swan through my canals
  relaxed as they finally found a home once more;
a home they might have already unpacked in,
                                                            p­erhaps in another life.

As they peeled their cloaks and unfolded into the folds of my lobes they sighed with content,
for my revelation was their new beginning
finally finding meaning once again in a universe where you cant live if you don’t have money,
  a sick sweet sour fabricated fact that penetrates the core of their solar plexis
                                leaving them unholy when the money structure takes over
                                holy when thought towers once again

With the ability of a person to move forward these words do no harm inflated with hope perfection honesty, embracing a utopia,
a now reality that you cant find on your starched TV.

Three years ago four words locked in a brassy compass whispered to me change the way you dream the way you perceive and what you do everyday and make sure you let your feet drag the mud behind you as you tow through the thick swamps of hate on the uprising paddleboat plays of justice.

Without her stark voice without The wandering jewess, Jesus-like Judith playing spells on my ears life would not have found a place where it holds comfort in the tempest.
These words like a shelter are my umbrella
but no ordinary umbrella covers here no,
no this umbrella knows when to open its arms to pour oms down my neck when drops are warm like skin on skin
and sunshine is bold like in black and white stills.

When wine is under trees these words will reflect in the crystalline stream I found in my inner cosmos when I was fourteen.

The people will have risen and Cain will have been banished and lovers will still lie limpid and hungry for the words of the storm eyed woman to ring like bells in towers above their heads again.

They are looking for paradise but they don’t know they are already in paradise, paradise now, paradise is now
They are searching for the words they have already heard they just don’t know what has occurred and sweat drips down their stems as they run in their minds to the revolution that has already freed us from the legacy of Cain.
Not for all,
But for us.
      A revolution of the mind.

These words will wake up sleepers and make the banks run after the money no one cares about.
These words are almost too holy for me to say out loud in only one voice they play and in one voice they say,
“TO DO USEFUL WORK”
Those words sing like they are of the angels like they have wings
Those words take their homes not only in my folds by in the white blood cell donuts of my fingertips, defending me from the ****** that say art cannot be my food.

The wandering jewess, Jesus-like Judith carved those words out of freshwater pears for me to drape around my neck like the arms of an infant crossed over the nursing chest.
My fingers wrap around those words like they are the scripture they are the word of my god cleansed by the salt water winds of wooden ships rummaging for rapture and something more than themselves.


Sometimes, wanderers find a home when alphabet fingerprints find a match to their long lost story

And sometimes, the UV rays hit your lens just right so that you can pass through a prism and come out a rainbow

And sometimes, gumballs come out the color you want,

the one that you patiently cranked for.