spelunking near Happiness Pt. a cave that swirls beneath Jameson Lake, soot-stained corduroys, weird blue sweater, some colored moccasins- it reminds me of when we’d climb up our chimneys as kids- when we got to the top you’d always smile and ask for a boost, and I would gladly do it, so naively fascinated with the soft feel of your upper legs-so anxious just to give us a push.
you held my hand as if it were a lightening bolt, a warm cannonball, an empty salt shaker, a cold kitten; as we neared my apartment i walked the stairs without saying goodbye or hello (in case it was opposite day) and watched storms approach on the weather station until they were actually happening.
i kissed a sea lion on the lips- felt its rubber hips- wisped whiskers and whispered whispers near the zoo gates- we made love and it sounded like a shark bite piercing a squid or a whale.
strapped to one thousand blue bullunes, sailing me, sailer you, a vessel, near a bluer moon- whiter confetti decorates my hull and bow, i am a boy, afraid and alone- hello.
on a bent bow, i mimic poorly the sounds that pour from my friends AM radio, on a flowered chair, one raided from the dead depths of an ancestors splendid halls of collected antiquity-an old oriental gong or the limbs of an old slovak general hang like pinatas about the house where we would sit as kids waiting for a semblance of candy to fall out; michael, dressed like an orphan on the day his supposed parents were to come claim him would get anxious and pound the old skeleton with whatever was near until we were swallowing dust, probably the skin of his grandparents of great or greater, and we would choke it out until we thought we could taste our lungs-in that old cellar where michaels grandparents kept their treasures i remember finding an ancient globe that depicted what i know now to be Pangaea, and that was the first time we knew me, him, and everyone else were all somehow connected.
ada, a mauve dress lolling on her shoulder blades as i contemplate our love away, a boreish faun drinking moonlight from a tinny cup that strangers dillegently dump coins in as they pass me to enter the theater-i watch her in line with her new storefront russian model, a man she aquired after my persistent digressions pushed her into the arms of a new precise lover; i remember, though my memory seems now just mush and daydreams, a day ada and i walked through a forest where trees sat lazily in recliners slouched eastward as to re-postulate their natural position, we stopped and lied upon overgrown grass snuggled close, like two lightening bolts, and i whispered something about how when we were young i used to follow her around the schoolyard and pretend to trip and fall down just to get a look up her floral skirts, she laughed, of course, and her jawline when she smiled resembled the borderline on a map of the states in which we were born, respectively. i get behind them in line, ada and the russian man where we both buy tickets for the same movie, perched a few rows behind them i hear ada start to cry as a girl spears fish with a sharpened stick and cuts off their fins to feed her dying brother, the russian man only laughs, as i desperately crawl over rows of seats just to hold her hand.
