Moment of ReplyMoment of Reply
Sleep well little sister
and try not to cry
for there is too little time to spend it on tears
or talking to phantoms without any faces
The world is too big
and your room too small
to believe that this is all there is
and ever might be
Despite the distance between here and tomorrow
Despite the difficulty of family
the flimsy silhouettes of friends
and hard weight of money and debt
there is still something else
something untold and untouched
a shape without corners or edges
a space undefined
a color you've yet to uncover
spinning somewhere inside your chest
A coin that is yours to spend
but yours to earn as well
It is yours to learn to stand
and discover motion amidst gravity
to wait and know patience among the hurried
to smile and know peace among the angry
to remember yesterday and not forget tomorrow
to see tomorrow without releasing today
There is nothing easy in this
nothing simple or true
and very little to hold on to
There 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: 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?
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.)
Dreamo in the Bus StationDreamo in the Bus Station
When Dreamo needs to go somewhere
he goes to the bust station
Sometimes a ticket appears
sometimes it doesn\'t
When it does
sometimes it is to the place that Dreamo wants to go
Sometimes it isn\'t
But even if it\'s not the place he wants to go
it becomes the place he is going
While he sits and waits for what he needs
(for what else is there
but needing and waiting?)
He watches children go by in strollers
and he sees them with gypsie eyes
like tiny jewels in plastic rings
to be spirited off
to be taken with ten hungry fingers
like spider\'s legs or tentacles
in an absent moment when mother looks the other way
at something shiny or special
with her woman\'s eyes
Sometimes if he\'s hungry
he looks at the strollered children
with unruly cannibal eyes
so that their skin peels back in a thick red line
and their eyes pop out of their still tender skulls
with two juicy sounds, one right after another
and the meat comes off their legs in delicate little strip
What Dreamo SeesWhat Dreamo Sees
What Dreamo sees is mostly not there
That is: it has yet to take shape, take form
take time to realise itself and exist
His 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 mouths
and their mouths filled with midwestern frustration
that Dreamo inspired in most of the hard working people he knew
He does his best to fill in the spaces he sees
the places between the lines that need attention and color
He uses the spray can in his back pack that clicks gently to itself wherever dreamo walks
as though counting the number of steps from here to there
Dreamo adds what he thinks ought to be and isn\'t when he can
Sometimes when Dreamo meets girls he sees what they are hiding
behind makeup, pretty clothes, pretty smile, and sometimes sex as a last resort
or sweaty bandage that, in the dark, seems something like love
He sees what they pretend is not there
and he smiles at th
When Dreamo Met GodWhen Dreamo Met God
Dreamo met God on a Tuesday.
God was rolling dice at the beach
with Paco and Sammy
when Dreamo appeared
slouching against the white flaked sea wall
with no shirt
his boxers peeking over the frayed edge
of 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 seawall
one more time before the cops broke it up
and hasseled God, Paco, and Sammy all the way down the beach
past the 7-11 on Pearl St.
Dreamo gets high alot and talks to God.
He is not familiar with
and is maybe afraid of
He is more comfortable with afternoons
the horizon a hinge on which he swings
He carries a backpack
and has no friends
but knows everyone worth knowing
for one reason or another
He spends most of his days dozing and dreaming
imagining crystal cities
as delicated as stacked sand
that climb into the sky behind his eyes
ambitious as Babel
only to dissolve as he slides away from sleep
into the bird beaked morning
to find himself hard with piss
Sketches of the Graveyard
Sketches of the Graveyard
It is a shanty-town heaven built of headstones and clouds,
littered with leaves,
its horizon made of sticks and naked winter trees.
The angels here are silent,
voices stilled by throats of concrete,
their eyes empty of any feeling.
I look on with small envy
until a black-white cat steps from between two graves
and miaows loudly.
I kneel to pet it, and smile.
Never Seen Again
Never Seen Again
they were words and nothing more
but they bloomed like flowers in her eyes
those sad secrets that slipped from my lips
sad secrets that I was tired of keeping
like marbles in my mouth
that rolled off of my tongue into her heart
and collected there like stones
The room filled up with the sudden awkward intimacy of confession;
an honesty with dangerous eyes and untrustworthy lips
unsteady legs and a need to be something more, something real
a desire to exist
we hovered there
balanced on a knife's edge
a breath away from everything we'd never said
and everything we'd longed to be
four eyes and two hearts saw a truth that would not be denied
they let it go.
The moment slowly passed
stuttering and broken
never to be seen again
Gray Haired Morning
Gray Haired Morning
It was earlier than I'm used to
and I was climbing
breathing hard against the straps
breathing hard against the hill
voices roll like water
down the hill
and pool where the mountain breaks a little
mist still lay in the hills like smoke
Gray haired morning
at the top
you can see the whole place
all the way to the bay and back
but all you can hear of the city
are sirens and the crows