Some nights on the roof
could never be replaced
by nights spent anywhere else.
For up here,
high above the frenetic energy,
I and I peer into the soul of the city,
and discover
the endless singularity of the world.
Atman is Brahman.
Everything is everything.
Yeah, nostalgia hits hard
when I see yesterday's
leaves carpet the ground
with the fallen splendor
of time gone by.
What's left this morning
are skeletal trees
combing the light fog.
It was through the mist
that streaks of orange
whisper that Fall has fallen.
Aye, the most mischievous season
is upon us.
At that moment
a spectrum of reds
washed me with wisdom:
Fall is the truth in color.

life seized on the ledge,
imagination wild and weary,
thereupon.
timid footing curled
at the precipice, mindful and
curious, both, uniquely mine,
undoubtedly present.
the best and the least of me
stand at my sides
uncertain of the future,
puzzled by vistas beheld,
the obscurity of chance
sprawled athwart;
the pageantry of it all.
naive romance waxes,
as a caucophony swells within,
memories cradling the past,
but sand falls through hands
even when clenched.
the noise finally subsides
to a single note of wonder:
to realize,
the best thing about uncertainty
is to be antagonized by its potential-
knowing its out there,
life, there for the taking.
and of that, i am certain.

when Today comes
with long legs and red lipstick
smack her on the ***
and buy her a drink.
let one thing
lead to another
and forget Yesterday
because no matter what-
she can never exist.
quit bankrupting life's currency  
by squandering ticks on the clock
trying to figure how many
tomorrows remain
(i promise,
there's just the right amount).
rather, have your way with Today-
take her back to your place
ravage her body in search of asylum.
let your animal free
as you how at the moon
and let the bedsprings screech with strain,
as they sing the day's song.
when she finishes her cigarette
tell her to leave the money
on the nightstand
where Yesterday left hers.

we used to gallivant around cities
with light feet and empty wallets
and you were infinitely cool
skipping from streetlight to streetlight
in colorful skirts and tank tops
and quoting Bob Marley lyrics
to tell me you love me.
these times were mindless
of all the tomorrows
that would eventually find us.

you would give me a certain look
with eyes colored a certain blue
and i was chivalrous
taking you by the hand
and scurrying through the crowd
our hands clenched with balmy anticipation
and we would find a restroom
or a rooftop or an alley
where I’d  lift your skirt
scoot your ******* to the side
and howl at the moon.

we would return to the bar
just-sexed and wonderfully disheveled
with spirits galvanized
by the hubris of youth
and the shellac of *****
your blushed cheeks told the story
as friends pretended not to notice
and overworked squares
drowned their envy
with shots of cheap whiskey.

i am the ******* puddle
sired by a spilled drink-
a brackish mix of
anxiety and ineptitude.

last night looms in the morning eclipse,
regret stews a visceral broth;
vengeful, my gut reminds me
nausea is the world's truest thing.