Cerulean Dream / The Name of a Poet

I was her passenger

on a dark blue freeway.

"I want your last name."

"Really? ...but, why?"

"Because it sounds better. It's cool.

It would just look good on my work."

"On you're writing, you mean?"

"Yea! I could carry on the name.

Whenever I publish something

your name will be there, too.

You know?"

I was baffled by her proposal, but

more so of her ambiguous enthusiasm,

the seriousness of her tone,

the earnest of desire.

As she steered the old Corolla

around muted blue bends,

a dusty sky churned behind

ashy blue mountains.

I glanced over at her.

She had that subtle smirk of hers,

a purple tank top,

her skin softly aglow.

All around was a cerulean shade

save for the flicker

of indicative red lights

"I guess I just don't understand.

You only want my name?"

Pressing on the pedal

she bent her smile

and quietly 

burned down the Caldecott 

Ring Finger

She speaks softly

trots gaily

and dances

like a wild horse

She is the closest

to me

She is the farthest

away

She's like a dream

so real

so strange

vanishing

If she scratched the sky

diamonds would rain

And should I be so lucky to catch one

firmly in my grasp

I would happily tie it tightly

round her ring finger

Ballpark Love

I could say dreams are curious, but are they really? I cannot recall a time that a dream has flirted any inquiry of me, it is only me that inquires into my dreams, or so it seems. What if we never spoke of dreams and regarded them as an off-shoot of memories? "What was it I was thinking?" Dreams are portals; step into the fissure and feel yourself carbonate. Bubbles rushing through your toes up and out of your nose. You're in deep, dark, thick, sleep. 

So, last night in my dream she was sitting next to me. We were at a ball game of some sort. It felt like baseball, but smelled like football. I sat with her and her girlfriend. The two were laughing and joking at topics easily ignored by a man. She sat next to me, plainly gorgeous, light, and womanly. She is a woman. And here in this stadium, immensely packed with blurred apparitions of people, she was my girl. I wasn't mad at her, but a little annoyed - much like my actual attitude towards her in my waking life. However, annoyed as I was, I was playful and caring, though hardened and quiet. She sat on my left, her hair in a bun, a black tank-top clung to her chest, and jeans that I did not see. A comfortable halt in her girly conversation and she turned to me, finally. Cracking a smile she sarcastically complimented me, "Ohhhh, look at those veiny arms of yours..."she joked, but meant it seriously. My arm outstretched, veins and all, responded immediately to the call. Annoyed, I was, but still in love. Her words still push, prod, and shove like they always have. She tried to turn, but I caught her in my gaze and stared at her as if in a daze. My face was cut as sharp as stone, and in that moment, we sat alone. Isolated in a crowded space, focused on my lover. 

And as I awoke the stadium went black, a heavy vignette shrouded my dream-girl and she was gone. I tossed in my bed from one side to the other, grasping frantically at a pillow, shoving it between my legs. It was early, too early to get up. I laid my head down and thought about that mystery until the waves of sleep carried me again into the sea. 

Fact and Fantasy

I hate to see you go

but it's better that the hold

you had on me is loose

before the scenes of losing teeth

grip onto my dreams

It is not strange for me

to think of you with other men

In fact, it is a fantasy

that you are wed and happily

married.

Salvations

There is a beach house in my dreams

riddled with dusty things

on the walls lives a whole history

my collection of memories

The edge of the universe, I have seen

there was nothing there for me

just a grip of complex patterns

I laughed until I cried

Today the fifth year continues

soon coming to an end

I have taken on the task

of letting everything go

it runs on frayed tattered edge

Larry

It's not so obvious

it's hidden in your eyes

not quite a blanket

but foggy and white

You run from spiders

they chase you in your dreams

some nights you're falling

in and out of sleep

Don't ask your Mama

what the B-word means

She'll drag your confidence

quickly across your cheeks

Reach

I sent off on a leaf
escaping the reach of my branch
drifting further from my tree
hoping to grace you
allowing the ends of my rigid veins
to trace you
your soft cheeks reside inside of me
and are deeply rooted
hidden, protected

Arcade

We were getting ready to play a show. I stumbled over the cables on the floor looking for my effects pedals. My long-haired band mate handed me one of my pedals and another cable. I was surprised that he had brought this equipment with him along with some other effects resting in a back pack alongside the bass guitar and guitar stand. We were in a big acoustic building, something like a mall. Our bearded band mate laughed at something. His hair tied back and his outfit black, he wore a blue t-shirt underneath. We prepared ourselves for noise.

The bastard I once called a friend was sitting next to me. Foul air breathed through me as he laughed. I sat in the chair next to him mapping out the cracks in his face. He talked as if we had never stopped talking. "How can you be so naive?" I thought. He talked on and on about himself and the incredible life he's been living. I half-listened through one ear. As my head straightened and my vision narrowed a familiar form entered the room. Long dark hair draped against a yellow tank top and grey sweat pants. A female from my past swayed into my sight. She was careless and seductive. She came to me in this dream as she has in many, but this time her face was different. She spoke, but I heard not words. Transfixed by her beauty I watched her flutter around the living room. The bastard still smiling, his eyes fixed on her, invading my sight just as he had invaded my mind in the past. 

And somehow we were alone, the girl and I. Soft words were exchanged. Nothing was familiar about her face except her cheeks and her smile. "How could this be possible? Why have you changed?" Many questions ran through my mind, but no answers would occur. A mild heat rose between us. We were familiar on the floor. I had fallen to seduction as she crawled on top of me. We reminisced of the love we made many times before. I had her now on her back and I atop of her. She looked at me with that unfamiliar face and that haunting smile. She even turned her head to the left and looked away from with the same sadness to which I had become so keen. I wanted her. I wanted nothing more than to dive into her and to change the dream into the reality of shared nudity, but we remained clothed and flirtatious. She whispered, I challenged, the cards were put into place, but we would not embrace. It was now becoming more familiar to me and pressed against her warm flesh I sank into a deep sadness. The bastard returned and we separated. Guilt and justification hot in my blood. A wave of confusion swept over me and I returned to a blank space. 

Somehow, now in the bright acoustic building where once I might have played a small concert with my band mates I found myself in an arcade with a few friends. We exchanged paper dollars for coins and had at the machines. I shared my ten dollars in quarters with my short haired friend. He played some fighting game whilst the others played games of their own on either side of him. I disappeared to a separate part of the arcade and entered quarters for two players. "...get over here! The game is starting!" I shouted to my short haired friend. "Alright one sec. I'm still playing." was his response. The tiny clock was counting each second that we hesitated. Time ran short and I was hastened to play both defender and offender. My short haired friend too tied up in his own game to play mine. Disappointed, I walked away from my machine. Whether I finished or not, I can't remember. But, I didn't want to play by myself. What did I care anyway? It was only a few quarters. My wallet housed more paper money and I could use that to buy cheeseburgers later on. I watched the others play their games and I disappeared once again into a blank space. 

Mutant Children

LAST night, we were all mutants on some great migration. All of us young, hungry, high-schoolers, high and on a mission. We were going to diners, buying movie tickets, shooting lasers from our eyes and hands, riding bikes faster than light, tracking our speed on global placement systems. We had ice cream and smiles on our faces. We were young mutants! And everything was as it should be. But, from who were we running from? No one would stop us if they caught us, we are not a force to be reckoned with. We're children! We are your children! We rode motorcycles and drove cars over dirt roads. Our hair long and untamed danced as we danced. It was all too real.

And before that, we were human. We were sitting around a television drinking tequila. "MAN SHOT" I would call out and the short and small, half-ounce shot glass would be replaced with a tall colorful shot-and-a-half glass. "I hate you, step bruh.." muttered from his lips, the birthday girls brother. And she was a lesbian, as was her man-dressed girlfriend. Butch and proud. Short and loud. The drinks were poured. The men and the women-men drank stoutly. "IT'S MY BIRTHDAY I GET HIGH IF I WANT TO!!" she shouts!  Smoke was not present this night, nor mirrors to tell us illusions and stories of vanity. We were of celebration. We were beautiful. The night grew tired and us tired of the night and we, the brothers, took our leave. And we were talking about girls. About girlfriends present and past. About appearances and realities. It became an honest talk, one too honest for my inebriated state and my body decided for me that now is the time to sleep. And I was home, walking up my stairs, keying the door knob, locking the gate, shutting the door, quietly removing all of my clothes, and rested with the tequila warm in me. My little girl cub crawled her furry paws up to the bed and lay with me. And we became mutants.