Catching a flying knee, courtesy
of a drunk-ass teen diving in peace punk gear,
concussion stars and Crass logo fusing as one.
Sobbing heavy into a street dog’s fur.
Coaxing a pigeon onto your shoulder
with an orange, back against brick newly
spraypainted, where Nicky fell out, dopesick.
Observing the pregnant and tumbling
wave of rats pulse and contract in the dark
zone of dumpsters. Swaying on the corroded
fire escape, tongue-locked with the neighbor,
her Doberman face beautiful and severe.
Crying inside the walk-in as the freeze
caresses your cheek; you feel so hungover
there’s a fear your face might crack and bleed.
Feeling the wind move through you as you
hit the dark pavement after shift change.
Swooning under the LSD fireworks
crackling overhead like a dropping chandelier,
a pretty girl leads you by the hand.
Weaving through the sticky friction
of summer heat and tourist crowds.
Listening to the alley kittens under
a window, squalling, hungry and lonely.
Wondering how you will ever get home.
Wondering if you will ever get home,
and where it is, and if it can be touched.
See that you don’t rev so hard forever.