I feel like I should write about everything that happens and almost happens to me. Like when I went downstairs I flicked my rolled cigarette without even thinking that I should hold it and remove the flame of it. I just let it go through the wet wind of the night to the bottom stare and with a light kerplunk it was dead on the stare. I heard the noise of trucks coming up the hill and I stiffened in my jacket thinking what if it were police. Police coming to investigate in this quiet area why I was out and why I sucked on the end of my tightly rolled cigarette in such a manner to remember a joint. They would stop me and ask for my papers, my passport, to process me. London has this feel of processing. Honor code running their public transport. Honor that people will carry themselves appropriately. Everyone properly getting drunk at the appropriate hour before twelve oclock. Slosh pish poshed fumbling on the granite, in their dress shirts and plain coats and spotted tongues bing bong doors of the tube slide tight shut to carry them home. The women in tweed, plaid, polka dotes, suited, wrapped, painted, and draken. I always feel beyond sober even in my lack of sleep. The lights appear medically bright.

over chicken
grease corona
and 2 pence
I felt Dr. Pepper
spark again
I felt ketchup again in my sniffles
I saw something
non linear
like the sequence gap in his unforrowed brow
I saw something
behind the blue
shul on the beach
In his slender mayonaise spotted
finger I saw something
with
the napkin
I wiped from his bartending
shadow on his face
in his faded green pant
I saw two macaroons
that fell like a shooting star
in the cigarette
he ashed
and stepped on it
with the foot that mingled with my toes in the sand
on that other beach not important to mention
in his little new blue phone
chewing the strawberry mess of a gum and the hebrew
in the gausy chairs
in the tables roundness
in the 2 euro coin I tipped
him for singing
in the upright
glass in our apologies
that dissappeared down the throat of the bubbly
corona top and the top that heard green day wincing
out of his memory
in my giggle of release
as he pissed around the corner
while I learned that Dixie chicken is from India
in the red bus that I missed
in the hashbon that we halfisies on
in the leaf painted that
hung on the wall of that cafe
in the belts that walked by us
shown like that one starplanet
that stood above my head
that missed all its friends
on that beach not important enough to mention
in the styrofoam clam of a chicken
again hot chicken
reassured me in that cab to that basketball game
that little backwards car tried to park
next to our walking
like the blackpearl
lifted from my heart
as that construction paper covered the window of Club 113
in the milk and honey
in the milk and honey
in the milk and honey
another pearl of meat
sprang chicken in my defeat with 2 pence
kissing me two times
2 peanuts like cracked
for
2 ashed cigarettes
and two grey hairs to talk
2 beers and two packets of ketchup
ketchup

I wish i could take back that
yell that shoved out of my mouth like a screaming birth
i wish I could take
most of you
back
your sisters
they're growing
your grandmother talking me tired
our laughs racing each other up to the ceiling of that bedroom
the a/c making icicles and scooting me closer into your arms
your salty lips after the beach
the sun sinking us
you not knowing how good Im doing now

Do you think if we were on this ice plate,
wincing from bitter snow whisking us apart
if we still would have fallen so hard?

And then again
Waiting 8 months
To fall into your hair
Makes sense
To ride the syncopated sighs one more time
It is worth
Not knowing much

But the Breakfast to cook
Bed to make
Shower to run
And the home in those hands

Revealing thunderbolts between our two chests
Lit me inside
First sight
Was first concussion
Blaring beauty luminous sea light
In black water
I felt more time
In the endlessness of our limbs
Floating under the sun moon
In the sea that was our bath

On a Sunday I left you on land
And felt nerves twinge
Distance framed by time and water
Suckered by a samba
An impasse

An email
Resuscitated
The bahian dream

Rio baby
Splayed me on a corner
In a house with a shy roof
And perpetual water spilling through its three floors
On lime clothe our limbs met
Greeting each other like an axis to swing our souls from
You even hired a band
Succulently careening together
To samba
I fell upon you
Done
In the sand
And wilted by a hammock’s sincerity

We are fluid over space
And it is our nest in the wind
That is my home.

Ah jes
me and the southern wind will take flight on a little
grey animal
called greyhound
in my black pantolones and wood heeled shoes
im gonna cross the mason-dixon line with pride
y'all
north carolinaaaa
raise up take your shirt off twist it around
yo head like a helicopter...
ahem i dont know about all that but good lawd
i cant wait to bus it on out
and bring it back
and when my 12th and final hour passes
on this vessel
to return to my southern brethren
i will spout with great conviction
Free at last thank god almighty
Free at last..

for Aaron...

I don’t know how two peppers mate.
Do they sit one on top of the other?
Like Sunkist fruits
Basking in each others orifices or is it
Linear
Where you can’t tell where one starts and the other one ends.
I think we met like two peppers or drank too much
But eyes on the wagon
Glad our lips met and hope they get to be great friends.

She drifted on the train
As all women do
In their curves and sweet crevices
Her eyes lined like a doll.
Weight shifting like a carnival float
Heaving in stillness
She was silk in a gutter.

never gonna believe this one...
arrive to my second place of work
muchacha had been there
asking for me
asking with face ruby from distraught thought
and I literally skipping in had been put levels at ease
cause i delved into my poetry book (jimmy santiago baca)
on the train
having no dea that i had caused such inhabitable spaces for
one girl
with one man
that i have
under a wing
solidly mush
as i abide on the ride
of sentiment and
nada is perfecto en el mundo
entonces
i move a head
what feels good
feels right
know ing ones worth took
a hastle and pain exploding from my chest
to appreciate
sincere gazes crush
the most militant vivacious mujer
and yet
estoy aqui
being questioned
to be looked at cross eyed
head
weighed from the disbelief
its nice but it aint that nice
i can remember when i was sick my
mother would give me this milky sour sip
to calm my stomach but i just turned my head
and the silver hardness being shoved into my mouth
slipping into my body without me even aware of its
thick existence did it to me marking my helplessness
and I pouted but took it not thinking i had any choice

beauty of adulthood
choices lay them selves across your lap like a melody
awaiting your move
delve in delve not
you arent bound to anything but yourself.
unfortunately
i have been swept by gaze, conversation, and cologne
into a choicefull situation
requiring my resolution
i just thought some bitch came to my work looking for me
what was she going to say
what words would have fallen like mercury at my feet
and how would she have responded to my generousity of tongue
i could have articulated the discrete details of scar adresses on the common corpus
but what would that prove
but her solitude is as prominent as a electric lemon pulp
her love is a prosthetic
and i fleshy enough so that
im rubbing off.

wounded
brevity
seconds
knight
to
snail

duel lap
where is she at?

gotta a show pony
gives me purple money
sobs in secret

miss that cretan

parish perusing

fishing for a smoochinnn
lose tailored boxers
carry jewels with indiscrete notions

that linger and dote on missed approaches

i decided i wanta big man that s large to absorb my height in his eyes

and enough that i kinda want to nap by his thighs

too bad disenchanted stares lurch
bothered about too heated sighs

miss that swoop whooping windedness that comes from flurried bed ridden
embezzlements

in my head i hear blankets tapping on each other
i see lanky pretentions
upon the lush and a middle dissension
of his mention..
ha ha im a two- bit jezebel
throwing hip into my saucy thoughts
my mom said she was retiring from pimpin

and that little flowery sheer thing was not something she was recomendin
i kept it movin
but i think its odd
that all of a sudden im dippin rapantly
into memories

bubbled into one single history

of elation, masturbation and awful break up occupation

its like washing dirty underwear so they look like new...
dosen't matter what you do...
cause inevitably shining em...

they still be funky in a few.

Leaving JFK with the my neighborhood castle
cab service

who i called before hand to pick up me and my
sister

Be aware that while on the phone with mother

verifying your arrival and that you are in a
taxi

...wait...car service or something and
enroute to your aboad...

that the driver of the service
vehicle...

as soon as you hang up that phone

will correct you to say that you are not in a
car service

but a limousine service that is
old.