There is a place I
knew once.
With jazz music playing
and handwritten scriptures
on the windows.
Every wall was a tapestry,
but the floor was never clean.
Flowers bloomed from the cacti
and books read themselves.

"Cast your fate to the wind"

It didn't have to make sense,
it only had to be real.

Candlesticks never burned
evenly
but everything was in sync.
Low lighting made for easier sight,
but only when the sun was in late bloom.

"Buy new dishwasher
or get old one repaired"

It didn't have to make sense,
it only had to be real.

I took to dancing in the kitchen
when I knew everyone was busy
burying their seeds.

Patches of paint in her eye,
they changed shape every new moon.
Place your broken down dreams

behind the garage,
you don't need them
anymore.

Somedays I slip into the stars and
swim in their forbidden pool.
It is a secret we share, a love
affair far too scandalous for print.

Every morning the rooster crowed,
but never at the same time.

"Don't get too close dear, the oven burns"

It never made sense,
but ever was it real.

I am not alone now every 2:15 a.m
You meet me somewhere in between the stars and heaven
We tell stories without hearing our own voices
Or tell stories without seeing the twists on our faces
Once, we've thought we're only fooling ourselves on April first
But the rest of the twenty-nine days proved it was never
Not lying, never fooling, only falling to infinity until forever.

April, April
Your showers come down
In flat gray sheets
And I pregnant the earth
With cardinal majesty

April, April
Your flowery children are cloaked
In green fragrant humility
With roots that kiss
And **** gently at the wet earth

April, April
The sun smiles on you today
As you sit beneath
The cloud blankets of Sky
And cry

I cannot
I can’t feel

At all.

There is nothing,

My mind is blank.

Writing is getting hard,

My words just

Feed into each other,

Therearenospacestomoveinthismess

I can’t focus longer than

A couple minutes,

If that,

It’s like everything is a dream;

Now and again

I wake up

Into reality,

Then slowly

Drift away

Into the nothingness.

I cannot make out
what you are saying,

Scream at me;

I don’t understand.

Anger takes over me,

And a headache 

That hasn’t budged for days,

Suddenly rips out of me

Exploding into the air

Covering everything within 5meters;

With stardust

And gun powder.

(I can’t tell the difference)

You’re the only thing

That makes me feel

A little more alive

At the moment,

But I can’t even 

Get close enough 

To your face,

Without shaking

And then collapsing

To the floor.

I’ll smoke cigarettes

And get drunk;

Just to be able

To hear the whispers

In my ear

And to block out 
the
muffled voices

in my mind.

all I'll remember from this April

is you

leaving me.

The April day is cold
And I await my death
Not in some distant future
Unknown to me,
Weak, mortal.

The April sky is grey
And death is creeping close
Down the hall it marches
And in my chair I shudder,
Weak, mortal.

The April sun is gone
And death is nearly here
For my soul it reaches,
For my life it craves,
And scared of death
I sit and wait
And wish I was not so
Weak, mortal.

The forest green of the trees
contrasts so greatly
against the soft pastels in the sky;
Did someone paint this neighborhood?

The odors of garlic & parsley
wafting from across the
charcoal street.
Hums of today's news,
all the latest gossip,
ooh'ing and ah'ing;
endless snippets of candlelight chatter.

Occasional dollops of light
peering up from sedans passing by.
Sounds of zooms
blocked out by the steady pulsating
of white earbuds.

Dogs yipping, sometimes a real bark.
Neighbors come and go,
reciprocating cordial hello's.

Street lights slowly coming alive,
for at 8:37, the sun has begun
its transition to slumber.

They always say,
TGIF, thank god it's Friday.
As day slips to nigh',
the crackles and pops of vinyl come alive
behind a slightly rusted window pane.

Tonight's secrets not yet revealed,
a couple strolls by
holding hands,
sipping coffees, decaffeinated.

A man drunk with regret
and a 40 in his belly,
he breathes a clumsy, "Hey."
Malted liquor questions,
their smell & sound, unmistakable gurgling.

Street lights now fully illuminated,
glances exchanged from
passer-byers.

He opens the car door for her,
and into the dusk they drive.
Vehicles come by in even
greater numbers,
and still searches the young man
for $9, a toothbrush, and a shower,
even cold.

Just another night of
just another day,
in just another city,
in just another neighborhood
on just another street.

Silence, loud, ominous silence,
filtering the senses,
the stories,
the magic;
Isn't ordinary   extraordinary?