The Woman and The RibThe Woman and the RibI.Dreamo on the last lazy legs of afternoonstill high from smoke and firesees something shine on the infinite invisible horizonIt is circular and cleana spinning sickle in the skycutting crosses into clouds with the rhythm of sex and rainIt falls and splits the seaa wound unto the rockgouges out the heart of all the earthThe earth bleeds into a sky cut with crossesBlood is measured into roses by the gallon through the crossand roses burn the dozen trailing smoke and papereach petal a page of inverse scriptslick as knives, rough as rustrubbing wrong along the skin of backward bent wristsveins full of letters and noiseA scream wakes himclean as sweatand God is standing watching over himfingers on his armII.Dreamo lays next to Godin the loosely tied arms of an unconscious womanand he remembersbeing drunk in the afternoonstumbling along the shorelineGod not far behindrunning from something that wanted themor chasing something they'd lostt
Angels and OctopiAngels and OctopiGasoline sunsetsEmpty glass cloudsAngels and octopi dancingAngels with opals in place of eyesfootsteps like fireand swords for hands and heartsJust bones, stones, and featherssapient and strangeOctopi with tongues in place of tentacleseight voices:seven stolen winds from the seven silver seasand an eighth all its owna visible vibration the color of smokewreathing the body balloonbuoyant and softshowing the shape of the windThere is no sound save hissingand rhythm of stones and bonesThere is no song save dancinga string of symbols without meaning or nameissuing from the mouth of the sun
IIIHer: When I come will you fall in love with me?Me: You know that I can\'t do that.H: I know, but you will anyway.M: I won\'t.H: You will.M: I know.H: It\'s sad really.M: The inevitability or my predictability?H: Our compatibility.M: But we are the opposite ends of existence.H: Which is closer than you\'d expect.M: What keeps you here?H: Fascination.M: With what?H: Innocence, freedom, distance, and beauty.M: I am not beautiful.H: And you never will be, buty ou might make beautiful things.M: It depends.H: On what?M: On how close you come.H: Will you break if I come to close?M: Only if you come too often.H: But then we won\'t have to worry about that with you, will we?M: Ah, but that\'s a secret we\'re not sharing.H: Which secret? The one about you and the two women or the one about you and wetting the bed?M: You enjoy this don\'t you?H: (Spins and grins and asks innocently) What?M: Dangling me over the fire.H: I love to watch men burn.M: You love men.
Moment of ReplyMoment of ReplySleep well little sisterand try not to cryfor there is too little time to spend it on tearsor talking to phantoms without any facesThe world is too bigand your room too smallto believe that this is all there isand ever might beDespite the distance between here and tomorrowDespite the difficulty of familythe flimsy silhouettes of friendsand hard weight of money and debtthere is still something elsesomething untold and untoucheda shape without corners or edgesa space undefineda color you've yet to uncoverspinning somewhere inside your chestA coin that is yours to spendbut yours to earn as wellIt is yours to learn to standand discover motion amidst gravityto wait and know patience among the hurriedto smile and know peace among the angryto remember yesterday and not forget tomorrowto see tomorrow without releasing todayThere is nothing easy in thisnothing simple or truenothing lastingand very little to hold on toThere is only the repeated quest
The Complication of CatsMe: Have you always been a cat?Her: As long as you\'ve been looking.M: And before that?H: Before that I didn\'t exist.M: You did.H: I did. But it didn\'t matter.M: Oh. Was that difficult?H: No. Not really.M: No? What was it like?H: Like being naked.M: Sexy.H: Depends.M: On what?H: On who\'s around.M: Oh. But...you\'ve been a cat as long as I\'ve been looking?=H: Yes. (She flicks her tail.)M: I guess that might explain why you treat us all like mice.H: Only when I\'m hungry.M: What\'s it like being a cat?H: Sexy.M: So it\'s like being naked?H: Yes, but furrier.M: Do you like to be touched?H: Yes, but not always.M: Can I touch you?H: Maybe. That\'s up to you. (He reaches behind her ear and she rolls on her back and bites him, breaking the skin.)M: Ow! That hurt.H: I like to bite too.M: You could have warned me.H: I could have, but what fun is there in that?M: What fun is there in blood? (He sucks the injured finger.)H: Everythin
Dreamo in the Bus StationDreamo in the Bus StationWhen Dreamo needs to go somewherehe goes to the bust stationand waitsSometimes a ticket appearssometimes it doesn\'tWhen it doessometimes it is to the place that Dreamo wants to goSometimes it isn\'tBut even if it\'s not the place he wants to goit becomes the place he is goingWhile he sits and waits for what he needs(for what else is therebut needing and waiting?)He watches children go by in strollersand he sees them with gypsie eyeslike tiny jewels in plastic ringsto be spirited offto be taken with ten hungry fingerslike spider\'s legs or tentaclesin an absent moment when mother looks the other wayat something shiny or specialwith her woman\'s eyesSometimes if he\'s hungryhe looks at the strollered childrenwith unruly cannibal eyesso that their skin peels back in a thick red lineand their eyes pop out of their still tender skullswith two juicy sounds, one right after anotherand the meat comes off their legs in delicate little strip
What Dreamo SeesWhat Dreamo SeesWhat Dreamo sees is mostly not thereThat is: it has yet to take shape, take formtake time to realise itself and existHis parents used to say to friends,standing in the yard watching little Dreamo play\'Dreamo sees things that just aren\'t there\'with their hands over their mouthsand their mouths filled with midwestern frustrationthat Dreamo inspired in most of the hard working people he knewHe does his best to fill in the spaces he seesthe places between the lines that need attention and colorHe uses the spray can in his back pack that clicks gently to itself wherever dreamo walksas though counting the number of steps from here to thereDreamo adds what he thinks ought to be and isn\'t when he canSometimes when Dreamo meets girls he sees what they are hidingbehind makeup, pretty clothes, pretty smile, and sometimes sex as a last resortor sweaty bandage that, in the dark, seems something like loveHe sees what they pretend is not thereand he smiles at th
When Dreamo Met GodWhen Dreamo Met GodDreamo met God on a Tuesday.God was rolling dice at the beachwith Paco and Sammywhen Dreamo appearedslouching against the white flaked sea wallwith no shirthis boxers peeking over the frayed edgeof his dirty denim shorts´Dreamo´ God said´Give this dice a little kiss for me.You´re luckier than I´ll ever be´Dreamo farted and God rolled 11.Dreamo yawned and God rolled a hard 8.Dreamo disappeared and God cracked the bones agains the seawallone more time before the cops broke it upand hasseled God, Paco, and Sammy all the way down the beachpast the 7-11 on Pearl St.
DreamoDreamoaDreamo gets high alot and talks to God.He is not familiar withand is maybe afraid ofthe morningHe is more comfortable with afternoonsand eveningsthe horizon a hinge on which he swingsHe carries a backpackand has no friendsbut knows everyone worth knowingfor one reason or anotherHe spends most of his days dozing and dreamingimagining crystal citiesas delicated as stacked sandthat climb into the sky behind his eyesambitious as Babelonly to dissolve as he slides away from sleepinto the bird beaked morningto find himself hard with piss