a glazed mirage in street lamp glow:

i only like the snow because you do.
icy lace mends beaten pavement
til i forget a world un-hidden,
glitter-ridden before the slush,
before the fuss of bustling morning.

shimmering streets, a whispered brilliance,
only im awake to see it.
still it’s ours,
though you are sleeping
i will marvel for us both.

old lives relinquished to a season,
we take back our natal names.

these days, some things sound the same,
like the mergansers in hook creek.

the flightpath when i try to sleep
still buzzes over like an auspice.

summer skin, the end of august,
all the freckles peel away.

i’ll skip stones across the bay
until the sun sweats through the night,

until time’s passing feels right,
until mosquitos **** me dry.

when i asked my best friend to punch me in the face

i was serious.
i knew he never would
but i wanted him to
bless me with a fist,
put knuckles to my skin
and hit me like he meant it.

there’s some crimson catharsis
in watching veins split,
in oxidizing spit,
old penny drip through broken teeth.
metallic sweet,
bleeding
is healing.

im drunk, still drinking
and i want him to hurt me.
not because it’s him
or because i think i deserve it
i won’t remember in the morning
but right now, i need a feeling
i need connection loudly,
want to have every synapse shouting

YOU’RE HERE!!!!
YOU’RE HERE!!!!!!!!
YOU’RE HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!
_______________­__

when i asked my best friend to punch me in the face
i meant it.
two rounds of king’s cup in,
our other friend’s head in the toilet
and cloudy chance surrounding harlem
he slipped on boxing gloves
curled leather around his thumbs,
put his dukes up
and connected with empty air.
“im on my mcgregor ****”
tequila drip and ***** spit,
he was laughing.
i wished that i’d been hit.
a quick split lip to remember it
because come morning i wouldn't
recall him walking me to the train
as i zig-zagged in the rain
like it was my first day on brand new legs.
he held an umbrella over my head
his favorite coat was dripping wet, yet
he insisted i needed it more.
“let me know when you make it home”
but it sounded more
like a warning.
time square’s so empty at 2 in the morning.
down 42nd street with keys between knuckles
but i refused to look over my shoulder,
sometimes adrenaline
is adrenaline
is adrenaline.

we sink half an inch every year
"soon, we'll be up to our ears
in water"

not a creature of fury, just of habit
the moon pulls her to churning, to crashing.
hotter water temper tantrums
rush the brine into our basements
soaking scrapbooks in salt
until it crystallizes faces

and yet i cannot blame the marsh

for reclaiming what was never ours
and taking even what was as penance.
but i refuse to condemn us
for shaping shorelines into lives
because things are so much clearer
when they turn with the tides.
we’ll grow gills in time,

we have to.

the ones who stay on land
could never handle shifting sands
don’t know we cling onto the inlet
with white-knuckled hands.
they never grew from buried roots,
seeds are just flotsam in the sea
so they’ll call Frank O’Toole crazy
when he can’t bring himself to leave.

Sparrows tumbled from my throat,
which is to say that my Grandfather is on the phone
and my Spanish is not what it used to be.
I spin silky yarns across the sea
of an American Dream he’s only seen in telenovelas.
He wants to know what mom left home for
so I fill sidewalk cracks with 24 karat gold
and turn graffiti into stained glass marvels.
He drinks in my descriptions like communion wine,
savors each syllable like it’s the crimson Blood of Christ
and I pray that he believes me.
God, I pray that he believes.
The heat hasn’t worked for weeks
but I paint him a fireplace,
a winding spiral staircase,
a home mud could never dream of.
I don’t mention the growing mold
or how when it rains, it leaks,
or the landlord tired of bounced checks
or how mom cries when she thinks i’m asleep
but through the sprawling, tangled wires
i’ll give abuelo the world, and tonight,
he’ll sleep better than ever before.

delayed, service changed
we are the trailblazers
struggling through stone and soil
and motor oil slicks,
slip on the gap
WATCH IT!

we are the city rats,
scurrying between streets,
along rails that could **** us
and that have.
service changes, trains collide
we take deep breaths, and swipe,

we cant swim so we'll slide
through sunken subway lines.
at show time we'll roll our eyes
but smile on the sly.
we're in this **** together
so delays aside, we ride.