A muggy dream walked to me Yesterday night, all roads down The equator With the taste of salt and sweat And the clocks of the world Stopped for a moment, I wrote without papers Of all the things he ever said.
The drama of falling from a cliff I did not know I was dreaming, A careful section of love letters Obscured under leather jackets Flew with the body, down to the sea. My red mail box had to wait For the Orientalist’s stories, It did wait.
I trawled his journals and poems Like a desperate lover hunting- For a vilified unpublished hero. I didn’t want to be his Halloween- Horror night or fallen oranges of the dusk, I wanted to be the cigars he puffed The rancheras he sung and the clipped Clothes that hung on his backyard.
The clichéd sappy night fall, Physical sensation and a tight lipped smile; I had to write poetry, chew my nails Chop my hair to fall normal again. Why did they not teach in schools To pause poems and eat popcorns Why did they not tell me To stop my wiggly sly will?
Lover, I’m drunk in Chaucer Sea and a monster, now I’m drowning. Let us paint the house, draw the walls And say sorry to malicious kids we made Let us take photographs, hang them on The walls and make trips back to our sacks Let us drive the hills, sing songs Shock the folks and live out of track.