Dreaming of the other side

The branches begin to shed their robust aging locks,

a stillness as if dead,

creeping clouds clues to some motion,

a mast setting sail eastward the lone vessel in the sea,

the rocking waters rumbling with a lion's roar

snoring while the pale coin twirls with the stars,

sprinkles of salt on the concrete making it crack,

a low moan of tires waning,

a whisper of wind against the brisk pane,

a stifling chill creating goosebumps,

restless night.

Still Staring

I’ve stared at this purple mirror before

tugging at the fretted pieces of hair still straddling my sweater

(the brisk cold is too much for just a shirt)

different lengths and colors, from different times,

leaning carelessly on another balcony always looking down

then up at the frugal dusty lamps posing as stars along the tenebrous sky

awaiting the eyes, those carnivorous pupils that follow me in the dark,

waiting for them to reappear to make me shiver,

you’ve probably felt this shudder before, but call it something else,

it isn’t the same, no, and never will be,

my hungry gaze will stay still till the rippling waves cease,

hopefully before the first piercing explosion of the sun,

though, I'm not sure if I’ll last.

Wake up call

movement, a funneling whirlpool swirling out my ears,

brisk yellow fingers trickle just over stretching trees,

sharp cut of light swaying on the rooftop,

gentle twitter of leaves waving,

awakening to an old dream,

the touch of my palm feels unreal,

brushing the indents to read my past,

maybe I can go back for a few more seconds.

Drinking Milky Midnights

I’m drinking milky midnights from a bottomless glass

                pass those star shots across the muddy counter

                last time gettin’ jiggy with anything was cool was the 90’s

                harassing blind men half your age to dream a better dream.

I’m sauntering along concrete steps while shadows dance with the moon

                soon our legs will falter and crash to the ground

                crooning melodies our forefathers mouthed during the war

                swooning over plastic memories painted on the drunken walls.

We’re hunched over a deserted bench waiting for the bus to never come

laughing at all the scenes we’ll recall years beyond this sun.

Dry me in the rain

Sky stuffed with stifling grey clumps

Conspiring eyeing my open hands

Mind too fuddled for an

Umbrella morning

Sniffing moisture like a fresh breakfast

Passing signals blinking

From the sudden fall

A sibilant rush of rain

Water mirage

Faces from before

Blurring the foggy windows

The doors slide open at my stop

I willingly wash out my mind.

Leaving Part 3

I've got it tattooed on my chest.
A silhouette of the skyline from Pilsen.

Stumbling across oceans
motions like water escaping
fingering the sand then lapping
receding toes too cold to touch
much thought of escape
taping shuffles and scuffles
telling tales of blocks built
and families destroyed
toyed by Mayor Daley
barely making rent
spent time with bottles
clinking staccato chimes
times on the loop
always taking me back
trains waning but
a circle city
a immigrant city
a city of many faces
places they've seen
keen on spilling coins
for another hit
get back on 18th and
preach the gospel to
the dead-eyed scoundrels
stabbing couples for dimes
regain the streets we've called
casa of border jumpers'
helping build their cages
pages of history blackened
by the tight belt
getting tighter brighter
lights for cops to cut
through the night
to start fights with locals
another riot till the market
martyrs sing the blues
once again.

As far away from Chicago I go,
I've yet to forget all it has to say.

Leaving Part 2

I've tempted typing telegraphs in glass bottles
but used words are just garbage in your ocean
a motion with soft sails sailing silently into our past
nightly crooning with old tales of once upon sleeping
under back then's blooming blanket of nostalgia and
in those day's praising promising parenthetical's puckering
lips lounging on exposed necks begging an audience with
the wanderer wallowing in his blues trumpeting to those
ghost maidens he once held hands with haunting him
hollow eyes staring back cracked photo folded in his
back pocket locket from  better days or different ways
of living when engrossed by a being posted in the pocket
for a year now steering into the vanishing point that pocket
jeering its chortle hungry for more fear tassel those ropes
for this vessel is about to collide with what if a crash course
forced to deprive him of his fatal thirst exhaustedly lying
exposed among the sun refusing to throw away that
photo that pocket reminds him everything can be kept
safe from time in the name of that precious star still
blinking in his sky their sky so why just toss it
when it still heavily weighs down his hand.

Leaving, Part 1

Hoist the sails, I’m setting out among the open sea,

We’ve glided along with half-smiles

While I’ve dreamed about a different sun,

One with specks of red in the womb.

Yes, my nerves dodder on these shaky rails,

Failing to quell your sadness, Primrose

prose wilting with the passing morning light,

fighting swelling tears, taciturn like our faceless reflections.

No, I’m speechless among the curious eyes of Chicago,

Staring along with strangers and friends while I egress,

Confessing my final sins swooning to your answering machine,

Gleaming a wanderer’s smile, ready to rile the other side of my heart.

Creep Creep Summer

Creep creep summer,
with your sly heat shifting with the height of the sun,
running feet skipping marble stones across oceans,
jovially groups kicking up sand to block out the past,

creep creep summer,
competing with the shifting cold night shivering darkness,
no more scarves to hide the old bite marks or scars,
skin bare to show the fall's lashes that we survived,

creep creep summer,
with your longer afternoons swooning till a pink pulses,
mid-break for the people still moving on their hind legs,
a pit-stop illusion, an oasis where time seems to slow down. 

A Perfect Time to Shut Your Eyes

You remember the sound of the undulating waves crashing under

the hull with specks of starlight salting the darkness

I gripped the freezing banister imagining falling in

down till the sound of my voice drowned

frowning as the dense water bounds for my lungs

spinning around till I reach the depth of my soul.

You’re that great white circling my ocean seeking

the scent of my blood

that shark bumping it’s nose against my still carcass

leaving bite marks to remind me we’re not foes

supposed to sink but the floater keeps me drinking.

You recall the way our voices lifted when we were alone

shone my own shadow on your ceiling

garbling goodbyes with distant prizes

you make it rain when you smile

imagining those wet dots sliding down your pallid cheeks

staring at the sinking pink in the sky

mild daylight shrinking into the horizontal sheath

my eyes count the visibly planets shyly

revealing their true colors to me.

                                                                              

A Day Away

Cough up my spooked heart in my hands,

searching both ways for a crosswalk,

dust the sweat off my eyes like windshield wipers,

spit up old adjectives caught in my throat,

rustle my collar to hide my scratches and bruises,

facing the façade of life fluttering like a peacock,

strutting dauntingly with a two-step,

I’ve learned my dance,

my teacher's passion makes my spine tingle,

you’re nothing but a mountain marauder,

merely a pebble poking my soul.

For the Forever

I play this record, Never, skipping on base clef discordant notes,

the needle dances softly through the dimming day,

play it twice, Never, sipping vodka to get words down,

thumbing yellowing prose about a dead rose wilting exceptionally,

selling free songs and blurbs for the past,

Never rides along like an old jalopy,

whispering in my ear, have you ever loved?

chuckling seriously, even if he isn’t serious,

mysterious moon molding my room into a white forest,

better to lie still so the cackling bugs won’t find me,

Never, see my half-full glass nervously whimpering?

Thrice you repeat with steel toes on my back,

producing images in black and white,

about a distant fight,

Never, please lower the familiar tune,

I still swoon from your melody

and I know you’ll last forever,

but give me time to severe these sharp pains,

Please, please, Never,

don’t ever vanish completely.

The Dead

I’m dead.  That part of me was buried by the final words

shoveling on my chest.  I’m dead.  With the last drenched sight

of your pale form swaying in my mind.  I’m dead.  Cross-armed

in my grave steadily consuming the grave-diggers mounting dirt.

Shivering sheets like ice scathing

away my trampled heart, starting

to mumble your name, drained

of life’s vorpal grip, slipped

into that murky abyss, last kiss

to the dark as I tumble into the ground.

Don’t ever wonder if the dead ever love,

since that idea is the only thing that will never die.

Dream Cycle

I’m stirred by the hooves of a cold wind while flecks of snow

flutter across my window in the sunlight.

I’m perched on a wooden bridge in the mist of rainfall watching

the creak below waiting for someone.

I’m stepping under cherry blossoms flickering like tiny flames

watching so we avoid the potholes.

I’m shook by an icy gust while the milky moon drips onto the

purple nothingness sprinkled with fading stars.

Air Balloon

The string dances between my fingers, rattling like an angry snake

waiting for me to let go, go high that heart shaped ship extending its

sails hoping to catch wind, when will the pink sunrise peek east I’ve

been waiting so long, long fields of effortless daisies shivering with

nights eerie gust, trust open door smiles and soft words even if my

body is too exhausted from overwork, work thought bubbles like

empty pictures that need filling, fretting storm clouds clapping and

covering the shy stars, stars leak lightening sparking symbols of

frowns and x’s and o’s, suppose this balloon does fly high I’ll then

finally set myself free, free ferries skidding above ooze oceans

carrying old familiar faces, places with bikini’s and blue umbrellas

filling my empty sky, sky whirling with ignorant grey clouds that

suck up the quiet balloon, I swipe at the string as it waves goodbye

with her red velvet lips, my lips mouth a requiem for the dead love

lying at my feet, little did I know the hole was already there.

How to Disarm a Bomb

I never learned how to disarm a bomb

calm steady hands picking sensitive spots in the heart

start from the first moments of the piercing smile

while treading the distance with a stern gaze

praising the quiet beauty patiently batting words,

locks of sunlight waving hesitantly, cut

rain clouds hovering over green moons, cut

red rope lips quivering like a tornado, cut

anxiety ominously clinging to her back,

fear makes my hand tremble as it sinks deeper

into the hallow cavern echoing doubts

and pressure from lack of air

staring into the blinking abyss

wondering what image

is staring back at me.

For Those You Love

They’ll say sing love silently in your sleep,

but it billows out like puffs of smoke from your chest.

They’ll say sweet words lead to sharp steeps,

but life’s a high bridge that’ll shake just for a test.

I cherish all the moments of our past,

if love is an illusion,

it’s the most real with you ,

so I hope it lasts.

My Invisible friend

A surface smile with a depth of shadows like a bottomless ocean,

umbrella sunrise of rosy pink cheeks,

peek through cascading moonlights like white shades,

shiver under a blanket full of holes,

waiting for the tides to come in.

The New

Appears like a biting wind on a warm cheek,

whispering questions that have drifted with the dead petals

floating carelessly into the stifling waves of time,

counting days by the rising and falling of the moon,

murmuring poetic verses to the sky

watching the puffs of your breath swirling into old images,

novels stick to your fingers like dirt

can’t wash away the tainted crimes of fake heroes,

a cracked smile bends with the sunlight,

brisk winter breeze billows onto your chest,

few streaks of clouds form a halo around the town,

outside stretching arms fingers attempting to touch

the golden strands of the new dawn,

but they’re just out of reach.

Suck in that crisp air,

And stare onto the horizon slowly revealing itself,

It’s time for a new slate to start.