Day 11

In August I ran through the town roads,
focusing on my own sweet breath,
dreaming of giant Brazilian roses.

The air was wet, damp,
and my feet slapped the asphalt
in the rhythm of your name.

My own erotic, obsessive seed.

The trees had not yet changed to
orange, red, yellow,
and I wondered if I'd miss the colors

while dreaming with you on the beach.

In between the hot white desire, the crazy spin
of one or two minds
is a place for fishing and poetry...


Day 26

I create you
out of reality.
I drag you drowning
into my dreams.

From under a thousand layers
of purple night,
I reach out and
drag you down,
gasping, until my dreams
my thoughts,
my will,
fills your
mouth throat lungs.

You cannot cough it up
as I hold you down.

I create you bold,
a blue glass bottle,
gazing back at me.

I build you flame and fire,
the excitement of a virgin
on the edge of life.

I drag you down
to a poppy field
where you fish.

I leave you this,
your fishing,
because it makes you human,

and because I know
I will always fear
that I have planted one piece

of yourself, your own identity,
and that one day,
you may leave me,

escape the suffocation
of this dreamer.

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