I thought I could hold onto you,
That the emptied hallways
Of my mind
Would be perfectly,
Deeply
And eternally
Engraved
With every detail of
You.

But now you're fading
Faster than winter's sunset
From a frost-wearied body.

And all I can remember
Is the feeling of
Your heartbeat against my cheek
And your gentle lion's eyes.

1.
I flew into LA
At sunrise:
Clipped wings,
Pockets of nickels.

2.
I could have died
With my heart exposed
And lips silent
(It would have been easier).

3.
My repressed homosexual tendencies
Got me into your veins.
I can’t taste coffee any more,
Even if I drink it off your smile.

4.
Yes, my mind did go there.
My stomach knots when
I realize I want your hands
Hovering in the darkness.

5.
He doesn’t watch me at night
When your name is fleeting
And my heart throbs too fast.
This could have been ours.

6.
I don’t think women
Look as good in blue, with
LAPD adorning their heaving *******.
The gunshot still rings in my eyes.

7.
I wish it were zombies.
Let’s start over from here,
And you can wade my shallow puddle
To begin our end over again.

8.
They’re like us, but older
And younger, and blonder, and
More human than I could ever
Pretend to be.

9.
Goodnight.
It is empty in the abyss
That is the absence of
Your smile.

There is a silence.
There is a crowd of people.
There is an aching cold.
There is a massive sky.

Chapped hands on bloodied cheeks.
Blue eyes on the yawning sky.
Frozen tears on a pale face.
Fading name on shaking lips.

The bleeding sun sets.
The yawning jaws shut.
The blue eyes flicker.
The fragile heart fails.

The sky begins to fold.
Someone begins to scream.

The grunt and swagger
is there, now, at the age of eleven -
the knowledge that, physically bigger,
his will can be enforced
without wit or compassion.

Worse than this,
she acquiesces,
any attention better than none.
And observing this graceless parody
of adulthood,
I feel sudden vertigo
gazing down the hopeless years

I want to bellow,
"Be unbridled!  There's more to life
than servitude!"
But she trusts the empty affirmation
she has been trained
to aspire to -
she's worth it.

Silly old man.
You don't understand
the world anymore.
We tried emancipation and equality
and it wasn't for us,
so stop confusing the kids
and let them be.

I'm kind of freaking out
Arizona is sleeping with another man in a cigarette based bedroom
there is still liquor in my pupil'd eyes
the oh great AM insomniac lamp
is dusty
with someone else’s fingerprints
on her *******
i reached for the moon
and only felt snow
the books are staring at me
not saying a word
my breath is thick
i'm out of cigarettes
I've got a few dollar bills
I'll buy coffee and ink pens to keep me up
i need to keep track of the phases of the moon
its 56 degrees
wearing only a sweater
I'm freaking out
Winter may never end
I may not be able to leap from the ceiling
i can't stand up
or grow a beard
i'm slightly insane
or slightly sane
i'm still figuring out how she walks
and the road signs
leading to mexico
i must be crazy
mimicking the speech impediments of the walls

I wish
I could have been alive
that hot summer day
when that yellow dress
clung to her
by surface tension.

My mother said

they sweated alive.

Sweated
arm to arm;
elbow to elbow;
limb to wet limb;
all crowded into
Mount Morris Park
waiting to see her.

To smell her.

the tacqueria's
and fish fry's
were going
and the air was filled
with grey smoke
to make eyes sting
and noses clench.

Babies
that looked like black marbles
bobbed
to the surface of the crowd
escaping their mother's arms;
perched on shoulders
screaming
into ears
not listening for new life.

"it seemed so far off."

people fainted.
One woman
fell down beside her.

A hole opened up
to let the paramedics through.

A long ****,
where her fingers,
hanging limp from the stretcher,
slid across thighs
in the closing crevice
in her wake.

"She was old anyways."

The hole closed.

The new world
formed
in her place.

Onstage,
a yellow dress
warped
in the sun.

From the back
my mother
heard a voice
like thunder,
close thunder,
thunder
like the roar
of the universe.

Nothing else was present that day. Nothing.

Just the yellow sun
and it's yellow birth of black
spinning,
sweating skin,
and a lilting thunder
like the roar of a universe
coming from
the black earth
at the neck
of that yellow, clinging dress.

"Hello."
the thunder said.

Marooned on a desert island
the boys sit patiently
waiting for a mobile signal.

At last, the bolder ones set out
in search of free wi-fi,
while the boffin tries to figure out
the cheat mode which will release them.

Food in trees
remains inaccessible
in the absence of ropes and harnesses
- these lads know their health and safety.

Slowly fading, bitter, helpless
the children fantasize
about who they can sue over this fiasco.

Piggy is the last one standing
for obvious reasons.

For the sake of discretion, when I retell this story, I am a fish, gill-hooked, near gutted, and thrown back. You are a goose with swan beauty, but not swan grace. There is a girl throwing bread onto the water above my head. Competing for the same crumbs, through what could be a mirror, our mouths met. You took the bread, but I kissed you.

I would kiss you
until the stars threw themselves from the heavens
and begged to be clothed in flesh and blood
that they might burn
as brightly as we.