The Peacock.

Smile down the necks
of children circling
down the stairs
and around our feet.

With smoke curling in trails
around our faces and-
I will laugh at you
through the blue of my eyes

and the sweet candy-kiss
of nicotine-laced secrets.

And then- I will give you
the aching wonderment of anticipation
possibility and 'what if'.
Though you might turn to fight it.

And with or without
those smiles will be something
you cannot hide from.
They will follow close
and catch your eyes
when you pause to catch your breath.

In dive clubs of night;
in grasses of sundaze parks;
in daydreams;
those smiles will find you.

They will land inside your jawbones.
And the pleasant sound of perfect music
will seep inside your muscles
will penetrate your mind.

For Jon.

One day you will awaken to find
your new life is a never ending dream
and you are all to tired of sleeping.

One day you will open your eyes
and realize that the dreaming was the reality
and the reality was nothing but closed doors
and the dissatisfaction of events
that left you desolate.

You will find that your native language
is what you have known all along
the voice of your blood and expression
and only now are you learning to speak it.

You will find the dialect flowing from your tongue
onto the faces of drunken street merchants
spilled across vivacious dinner tables
kissing the waitress inside of her dimples.

Only your laughter will remain distinctive.
A ghost of your lingering past
a dis-ease accompanied by
candied lovers kept deep in your closet.

And then- you will find yourself-
six hours hitchhiked
staring across the ocean,
feet wet in rising tide,
and calling out-
only to find your echo
in words your mind can no longer decipher.

And in that sound-
you will find solace and memory
forgotten dreams and reality
sun-streaked secrets spun into your sanity
and release a sigh of holding on
as your hands relax in letting go.

You will find yourself walking down the highway
returning to the home you thought was not
and suddenly feeling an impulse
a flashing pull and ache in your chest.

You will turn south.
You will not look back.
You will not think twice.
You will make it on your own.

And you will learn to master
the art of lucid dreaming.

101708- S.O.C.

Bubbles floating through hostel hallways
and eyes wide with dilation
in the night of champagne fizz
coating the iris- the lashes-
to flutter away under the cracks of closed doors
and slip between the lips of lovers
kissed too passionate
under the haze of foreign romance.

To slide under the sheets
and slam against the wall
with the thrash of clothing
discarded in urgency.
To land hard and settle
resting on the cold of window,
pooling with shining drops
in response to a gasping desire
a need to quench the thirst

for the earth will shake
to end with the dawn.

And soon it is
holding tightly the rise and fall
of bare skin stretched
over heavy lungs sprawled
intertwined across the mess of bedsheets
and fingers that search out
facial profiles
and hip bones
and fingers to grasp
with a single request:

Can this moment last forever?

101408

I am pre-dreaming
singing and seeming
casting lines deep into the night
with lies and vines
seduction at sight
with hope
to drudge up.
Something sweet for dinner.

To bring the plate
satiate the palate strung
with baited morsels
scalding to the table
with nightscape and fable
and feed in spite-
mouths hungry
eyes wide and
lips parted
wet with appetite.

Dreams whipped
hand on whisk cramped
stiff peaks of
falling, flying, lovers stamped
on brain waves
and gravy trays
spices scattered all of them
and the harsh flicker of REM.

I am lucid
a crucifix on chain
an aim to claim
drawing my reel
through clay creek bank reality
pulling the line
with the constant click
the tisk tick of Father time
then silence-
a rapture-

hook swinging
stagnant breath stinging
seething though the nose
the noose lingers
hypnotic through the air
my eyes fixed to stare
and I am drifting
lulled into my own spells
the dreaming tells
and drifting to the bait
to catch myself
torn up
by selfish fate-
the end to my addiction.

This dress of cotton candy.

If I run away
to a place where
street lamps illuminate
a radiation
filling the night
with sugar white
and streaked past the nose
sweet on the cheek
of boys far too beautiful
of girls shining golden

If I run away
to gumdrops and sprinkles
and soda fizz-
injected through skin
filling my head
with rock star parties
drizzled thick in honey
I'll lick from your body
pulled slow down the razor
and kiss the blood from off your lips

If I run away
to candy sweet and purchased
in deep alleys and fishnets
to bruised hips
licorice eyes
and false lashes flashing
dusted by angels.
To speed-driven dance halls
and bodies pulsing
the sound of adrenaline.

If I run away
to crowd surfing riptides-
opiate spring baths-
eyes set in relapse
on moonlit electric
and midsummer's dancing.
My thoughts spun in sugar
pulling like taffy
on teeth long with craving
the ecstasy fix.

If I run away
to a place where
we'll swim in molasses
legs weighted with ginger
devouring the crumbles
we suck off the bathroom floor
to cut you with egg whites
fold in saccharine extract
and siphon our blood
to replace it with nectar.

If I run away

100908

I like the way
you feel in my hands.
A vice-grip on liquor
and I am holding you-
fingers entwined
the rhythmic circulation
a pulse meeting in our thumbs.

And my eyes- like yours-
stare straight into twilight
but I know- you know-
I'm glancing off at you.
Sideways. And I catch it,
that wink of lash
reflected on stars.

You are in the moon.
My head swelling
a high tide of midnight
as the space for me to safely stand
grows ever narrow
on the beach.
My feet are wet in you.