my grandfather
taught me to
keep my words
like a woman's skirt;
long enough to
cover the good parts,
short enough to
keep things interesting.

my time is now.
dancing at midnight
full of whiskey and jazz
in a flickering subway station
with scuffed feet and smudged cheeks
and when the next train passes
i become a deadly blur.

my time is now.
riding my little cousin's bike
through downtown midnight streets
screaming jazz and eating smog
like it's my last sacred meal
and crying actual tears
from my hollowed-out eyes
for the lonely and beaten-down
trumpet players of jerusalem.

my time is now.
there are words in my bones
and i'm drilling into flesh
with a typewriter's hammer
and only a vague sense of direction
and no love of money
pockets empty and my head
is full of swinging jazz
and milky clouds
and smiling women.

i spent that whole night sweating
lying beside you in bed
delicately ******* that spot
on the small of your back
but not even breathing
in fear of
your
waking.

i use these
as an excuse
for new material--

baffling?

no new treats
for me
on hellopoetry,
please
wait while i
****
myself.