Being around you is like a Saturday morning stroll

To brunch, a smiling stirring welling up

Through my core, as water to a faucet,

Looking for a yard or a birdbath to attend to; or spicy

Smoke in a sinuous tobacco pipe,

longing to be inhaled.


I’ve lost myself before in holograms of people

Trying on their monochromatic membranes,

Like I was just trying on their coat for size,

Trying to match up our reels like the sound was out of sync to an image,

Unaccepting of the feedback loop of intolerance.

But they got all glitched out whenever I found a wound

All wound up and hidden, but

I’ve noticed you take them out in the open,

As you might a proud three-legged Pomeranian,

Showing them off like a circus performer would his mighty elephant.


You are phenomena, like the Marfa lights, or

the dragon in my recent hexagram:

Ch’ien, the Creative. Too quick

I’ve dined with fun-house mirrors,

Attracting me with a sly smile and a juicy gaze,

Until I realized I was contorting myself to their crooked curves, don’t worry

I’ve got plenty of lines of gorgonzola galore in store for you,

A fine plenty of Manchego rhymes in this mindless haze.

Blame the maze in my brain.

It’s the Dark Night of the Soul.

It’s the Dark Soul of the Night.

Don’t you see, darling?

The Golden Dawn is here; between our eyes with cosmic glue,

I know it’s true because of déjà vu.


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