Tuesday, December 2, 2008


You lean forward, a secret.

Breath carries a whisper

Crisply in tune, ready to be

Riffed on, ready for the combo

To wail and nod and rise and gasp

And never give away.

Unseen clouds of vaginal perfume

Drift around the music tickling

My nose.

How can you be so girl and so woman?

We get tacos before the plane takes off.

Sitting on the roof tearing into the food

Washing bites down

With port and poor planning soaked in syrup.

A lot of bullshit that at the time we didn’t know

Was bullshit.

You’re hidden under a blanket staring

Fierce and sincere clumsily rolling cigarettes

And making plans.

You’re eyes suggest this is it. This is something


I turn my glance towards the park, some kids

Making noise in the distance.

Time machine.

I sit by the window

On my bed

On November Thursday

Around noon

Watching planes.

Imagining Peter Pan eyes in

The reflection of glass

All mischief and green velvet stockings.

What boy do you roll idly through

Your fingers today in time zones

Three planets away? In a far more

Whim-drunk dimension of communes

Built on child-like lust and farmer’s co-ops

Where peas and corn are sold for compliments

And kisses.

Your name slips across my tongue

With hints of cinnamon and curry

And the texture of small wet

Mandarin orange slices that ought to be

Hanging in the MCA as poems of

What innocence looks like.

Plump, juicy, bright and unbitten.

I think that we are two, some kind of

Gender confused doppelgangers.

Protective, sibling lovers born into a

Proper society in improper ways. It’s not

The kind of love of marriage or sex but

One of understanding. One that might make

Life impossible were that plane to return because

We’d spend all day collecting friends and all night

Dreaming with them and making noise in parks while

Grandparents slept, and bankers slept, and machinists slept

And angels slept, and teachers slept, and bus drivers slept

And only children were awake in dreams

Laughing and chasing each other through bushes.

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