Coughing myself awake I taste like that kid. What's his name. Grumbling into my mouth all night, about "back home" or whatever. I wake up coughing him out of between my teeth. My room is too bright, the sun comes in the windows sideways, I have to tie a rag around my eyes to get any sleep around here. It's blazing in my room, half empty half full glass of water cracks the sunbeams into rainbows across, my bedroom. Shoots a rainbow into bed with me. Look at me like I'm some dumb kid: does it turn you on to think that I know the order of colors in a rainbow? Because, I mean, I do.

Bright but cold, I know it will be. It's so cold the streets freeze, black asphalt ghosts itself down into the chalky ladies of the avenues. Crisscrossing, lazy. White at day and orange under the heat of streetlights at night. It's so cold that it makes walking home easy, the streets are glowing even a myopic superstar like me can find his way around.

Morning no rainbows I drank that water to wash you out of my mouth. Took a long shower and burnt incense and I got down on my floor honey and I listened to Miles Davis. You know I like all that groovy shit. Paint my toenails bright blue. They'll match my Grace Jones t-shirt and you'll see them tonight if yr lucky. I cook some fake chorizo, Bobo and I smoke a cigarette. We play video games and we talk about childhood memories. Lazarus tells me about learning to heard goats in Italy. I'm not saying the stakes aren't high and I'm not saying I don't wanna fuck but I'm saying that it's not all punctuation, lover. You're doing it wrong if you're missing the vowels. You sound like a neanderthal and baby I'm a poet. Ask anyone.

We're getting ready. Cold not dead. Or not dead yet. Tracy + the Plastics call and response "You're not dead yet." Well I live in the NYC, you can't have a fight without me. The option was never here. Eliminate the lie, you disappear. But you say: 'No Man I'm Okay'. Put me in a place, put me in the year 2000, I waited for the power to get cut off while I was on a beach. We launched a Christmas tree into the bay and I fell in love with a girl, she looked like a drummer but she couldn't play.

Lyrical reference, a theme from Miss Laura Nyro: Womanchild on the side street, flashing in blackpatch. Lipstick on her reefer, waiting for a match.

Some things are in season even right now.
There are things ripening as we speak, you just have to know where to look.


Daniel Portland said...


Owen Brightman said...

spreading breath into vowels - i'm glad i found this dock.