Night On The Island

All night I have slept with you
next to the sea, on the island.
Wild and sweet you were between pleasure an d sleep,
between fire and water.
Perhaps very late
our dreams joined
at the top or at the bottom,
Up above like branches moved by a common wind,
down below like red roots that touch.
Perhaps your dream
drifted from mine
and through the dark sea
was seeking me
as before,
when you did not yet exist,
when without sighting you
I sailed by your side,
and your eyes so ught
what now–
bread, wine, love, and anger–
I heap upon you
because you are the cup
that was waiting for the gifts of my life.
I have slept w ith you
all night long while
the dark earth spins
with the living and the dead,
and on waking sud denly
in the midst of the shadow
my arm encircled your waist.
Neither night nor sleep
could separate us.
I have slept with you
and on waking, your mouth,
come from your dream,
gave me the taste of earth,
of sea water, of seaweed,
of the depths of your life,
and I received your kiss
moistened by the dawn
as if it came to m e
from the sea that surrounds u s.
-Pablo Neruda



Someone spoke of a bus.
I spoke as well, but without knowing any of it.
On the day of my arrival there were chariots,
and the coats of the homeless leaked down feathers through the streets.
It was confetti.

Traveled Miles


Cobwebs Grow

I've seen them with my eyes. The things I want. I want to need. They're needed, but become hang ups. So they get dusty.



Before living on a couch in a living room I lived in a room without a couch.
Maybe there were two rooms, but still there was no couch. While I lived there I took pictures.
One day a house got weather proofed from Obama's gold money.
I took pictures.
Now I wish my couch was weather proofed.
Weather is just the proof to my couch now.



Following The Morning There Of After

The children were all very proud of their Playdough turkeys.
Before bath time they pranced through the house with nothing on but their bellies.


Things happened this summer.
Now other things are happening.
Some say time goes on.
I say time doesn't care what we have to say about it.


Morning Thanks

We had heard of a parade that morning.
There had been a lot of things heard by that point.
We decided to make our hands smell like popcorn.

The Whiz

And nobody.
Beats me.



A fog rolled in.
I said God damn.