you ain’t no barney rubble, you tousle with android phones and bolweevils.
been seen in kerosine, lit like a charm on a wax star. you ain’t been seen
till you get there…
you ain’t no halfwit neaither. you seen streets that repeat dead names to nameless people.
lived in those hoods that been ill for a thousand years for no reason.
for some reason…
in my corner of smoke the world is a thing on stilts
mesmerized by medallions of lost faith
at every pavillion’s edge, where the ‘morrow is ever waning
like a plum in an orchard of leaving things.
a swarm of beautiful agonies, sown into the crease
of our everlasting desires.
in my corner of smoke, all things are visible
but mondays drag tar across your tongue
like a molten snail.
we sing where it burns, nevertheless.
we have so many stars
high ankled inlaws
and awkward Templars
on a sea of inconstant
for all of my bazookas, i can never find the sky.
i sleep on a bed of acronyms. Because. Everyone. Does.
so many afternoons spill into thimbles of love.
and i have all of my eyes
sweet are the thorns of my sugar
and only god knows
sleep is a ******. it recoils when the moon and the night conspire.
it shuns slumber like a timebomb on a porch.
sleep ticks like a phantom with Tourettes...
we are not familiar.
in the wee hours, I am disconnected
from trivia. attached to the hull of a great force
surging through the aqueous chasms
of my insomnia.
like a butterfly the size of a classical harp
clapping in the dark
but when I do, I win.
I give up and go
I take the risk -
out for a
I linger where
you know the rain for its staccato
of intimate noise. the wildebeest-
deluge-migration by the thunderous
hooves of infinite raindrops.
like recalling a song
only you can