1.
the night fell in soft
opalescent waves
quiet shimmering dances
in empty magenta skies
the fingers of daylight
folding on themselves in dusk prayer
as pigeons return to their barracks
their work well done

my eyes birthed open
to the flotsam
of a rented room
laying under cracked egg ceilings
a single bed
wood paneled television
light fighting weakly
through yellowed windows
wrestling myself through the grip
of last night's bacchanals
i dressed myself under ceiling mirrors
straining my neck
to observe my sorry state
i collected bits of my life
from the dead lawn floor
and lurch out the door
down the stairs
and into the street

all the roads
bleeding out from 180th and tremont
lead nowhere you want to go
all the directions here are wrong
ask the magdalenes
on the corner
the buildings groan
under the weight of their histories
scarred and tattooed
lifers all
steam rises from the grates
full of slang and rythym
breathing life into
hungry bronx air

2.
the last time i saw her
she held kerouac near her belly
shook autumn in her hair
and walked like paris
she changed like seasons
and left me to fall
from quiet little earthquakes

when i met her
my love for words
had begun to pave
new paths of illumination
alleys and boulevards
of virgin soil
and she
being one for fresh fruit
broke ground on her own street
and planted two lips
in our new garden

everything before was winter
but the light of discoveries
fingers
secretive sweating
record stores
backrow theatre seats
washington square park
and the lute of her throat
had begun the thaw

3.
the #2 train roared over me
covering the street with
tightened thunder
smiling
i thought of zeus
coming home late
and explaining to hera
he's been out with the boys

onward now
to stops i remembered well
i quaked along iron pathways
a figment of everyone else's
imagination
because in the subway
everything seen is unseen
between midnight and dawn

4.
we were immortal that year
dancing switchblades
on the backs of notions
running to each other
"have you ever read this?
was there ever such a thing!"
playing verlaine to your rimbaud
you could spit just as well
and that
should have given me pause

running like wolves on fire
looking for the marrow
everything was new
taking rolls of green tokens
we took a ride of the mind

we fell in giggling at the gates of reason
and with tiny fists
punched holes in it
carved our names in it
posted bills on it
and climbed through the wreck
we made of it
but as i chose to ground my feet
on a greener path
you swayed like opinions
and started down the white road
of spooncooked heavens
and episodic nirvanas

the roads became borders
and the borders become oceans
all fed from the river styx
all i could do was watch
voice cracked dry
and lips numb from horrors
with no coins for the ferry
you faded past the twilight
yellow hands raised
shedding yourself of
who you were
and wrapping yourself in the glamour
of who you thought you were
and she turned out
to be lost

5.
sometimes
on the train
i would lean my head against the window
to hear the tracks in my teeth
outside
the lights flew by
like flocks of phoenix tails
racing past my forehead
burning their memory there
the signs sailed by
174th street
freeman street
simpson street
intervale avenue
prospect avenue
until finally
i rumbled into
jackson avenue

i hoped that the city
had not done its duty
for once
and cleaned up the graffiti
at the end of the platform
where i etched our names
in fat blue marker
the night we smoked sensimilla
for the first time
and threw lightbulbs
from the roof of your building

on the bench covered
in ten years of vomit colored paint
i sat and closing my eyes
i moved my hand left of my lap
where i had committed my crime
and was saddened to see
our name was gone
as gone as you were
and i hated you then
for fading like that
for letting your head swim
with an illusion of glamour
for leaving me
to discover things alone
for making me like french movies
and for the stupidity
of what you did
and i hated myself then
for letting you fade like that
for not being able to swim
for being greedy for your hands
and for hating you

i'll never take that train again
i've found it goes nowhere but backwards
to a faded mirror picture
of a smile i knew and reflected
on saturday nights
in st. james park
where you still might be
your hands still waving
as you glide under
and into the black

i would know
it was a lie

because you're dancing with roots now
springing into life
like you used to
that year we were immortal