fish eye

at first view i sparkled like a sinking blade in the sullen opal ocean
coming closer into the blinding dark a she Sun rose
open there i was to the cataract lens of luminescent death gaping mouth uttering finally nothing
my armored scales resplendent no more were plucked away with the dance of she wind’s torrential hair while absence in my marrow was shivered
my bones were to be the same of Jonah’s host and handler
prophet spitter
the hooks have gotten thicker
on the surface of my mind

turquoise

2:57 in the morning Broadway still suffers for someone
traffic lights blink with the force of anemia
i think only of you
and wonder how to kiss your eyes
so blue like turquoise
the Sun she won’t be long in coming to teach me what pains me to know
as i wonder how to kiss your eyes
so blue like turquoise
the Moon he’s been a coward left me at the bar
he slipped away to chase a star
and i wonder how to kiss your eyes so blue like turquoise
as i step again into the hemming of the dying night
the puddles underfoot are my only guide
through the mesh of doubt and loneliness
and i wonder how to kiss your eyes so blue like turquoise
i thought i saw you down the road
chasing your old ghosts
in such a radiant glance you told me of another’s heart
through Broadway i wander
and recite ‘will i ever be enough’
and wonder how to kiss your eyes
so blue like turquoise

for Mr. Banks ♡

purgatory

time appears to have gone on forever and there is a big chunk of me whatever i am that has not changed on this day a very long time ago i was granted permission to come into this world to a big city that is just made of legend i learned very quickly that when the sun went down we all bled shit sleep fought hated just like each other no big difference not from the next city over not from the next country over and probably not from other planets today that old cautionary statement we only live above our demons but we never get rid of them swirls in my head i confess at times i don’t know how i think how i see things i don’t even know sometimes if i believe in pain emotional spiritual physical i don’t know the difference at times what does it feel like to be without pain does it feel the same as being in pain don’t know so here i am back at the Cecil Hotel right where i have always been obviously not in body but in soul sometimes when there is no one around to question the fuck out of me and why my face looks or doesn’t look how they want it to look that particular day i wonder am i a ghost i wonder have i been reincarnated i wonder when i look up and down Broadway and Main to the left or to the right and then i look up and turn around and i look at empty shells of buildings where gargoyles used to be decorations masonry ballrooms perhaps so much and then there will be a particular window that enraptures my eyes and i can’t look away and if i squint my third eye i swear i can see her young dark hair big green brown eyes i don’t know what her name would have been maybe Hazel maybe Dorothy who knows not a modern name and then when my third eye blinks she jumps

the next selection

nobody has sung me to sleep
i think as the green chile frozen burrito thaws in the 7-11 microwave ring
while the four minutes buzz by i stand in a line to pour French coffee in a 99 cent styrofoam cup emblazoned green and orange
7 sugar cubes black steam rising like a genie woodsy cinnamon that melds with the patchouli on my skin
the oven dings me to attention
the burgundy corn rowed attendant girl smacks gum like cud while stirring safety orange colored cheese ooze in the sweaty container her name tag reads Patricia
across Broadway is the farmers market Feng Shuied on 4th over here honey the flowers over there by the old bank bookstore apples and grapes by the old merchants den
i think i’ll get some lilly blossoms
my brain begins to hum something by the Smith’s outloud
there is a millstone round my neck today
the pavement wet with northern rain and i like it’s sepia tinge
the thud sound of pea green goop hitting the ground alerts me
burrito down i wrap what’s left for dinner on Tuesday
the coffee lasts for as long as it takes me to cross the empty street
i slip on my mask one loop at a time behind my hair and ears
somebody’s hipster husband smiles at me
in a way the Crystal Healer wife might not have liked unless they both are swingers
the blue tooth hums blink three consecutive times and AC/DC attacks me
the final riff flows through my rickety bones and for the next selection i settle on Tchaikovsky