A burning sky dies over me

a burning sky dies over me,
sighs over me, extinguishes
like a lit match
blown softly unconscious.
fingers flaming pass out
into wispy smoke, clouds that once burned
hot slowly rust,

i watch them turn pyroclastic dark,

they turn against me –
an encroaching cloak of emptiness. i watch this death
a hungry voyeur. i listen though
nothing, nothing remains
save a sliver of a moon croaking awake, and black silhouettes
of trees and city rowhome skeletons whispering,
you always leave, you always do
but the gold is worth it for one brief hour,
that one small time our eyes got big
and drank colors possible only in dreams.

20140928_190131

clock and I are shadows (insomnia)

clock takes a turn with me about the room,
we are shadows, and lights that flicker and dance from passing cars
drive us slowly mad with desire –

clock and I waltz about the room
tracking light movements
with precision of hunters until, suddenly, each is swallowed
whole by us in the darkness –

clock and I laugh, spinning, the world
outside growing older, each star following the same path set,
a quick flicker before our dark tongues close in with a smirk.

Midnight Streets

We were born to roam midnight streets
to leave sticky notes of jazz on exuberant thighs
stopped beneath streetlights of dancing rays
gnawing here and there, tipping them back, tossing aside.

We die each hour of impending day but
the streets become a blues pulse, thumping. Again,
hold on to night’s desperation and grind slow
into cobblestones content with the hour still late, late, late.

chipped nails (in Fells Point)

Saturday red nails,
smell of rain moving in. but not now.
not on us, chosen
ones who crawl our way through
cobbles chipping nails
looking in the late night
always,
constantly,
looking.
what we want is here – but we are not
to make a sound
while we circle it
scratching nails in the dirt. we are not
to make a sound.

the way a flower sleeps

the way a flower sleeps when such nocturnal blanket through the blinds
gently folds the silky daisy petals toward each other
until the sun-shaped glory has become a half moon; it’s
the way a body folds in yoga
the way the cat curls its paw, with tufts of fur, over its eyes to block out
the electric hum of this laptop clicking, so desperate to know what
lives in those dreams of flowers and cats.

night crawler (the moon and people like me)

where darkness
leads a whiskey shot
with no chaser
claw the burn and the dizzy

where alone
with moans of an E minor
strokes my thin camisole
that dews see through with sweat

even the moon
is submissive on a Tuesday
settles for the blackout
spills out ‘cross the street

where the devil says
i am your sweet tooth baby
i am your lizard king
waste your days, feel whole again —

that’s
where
I
wait.