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A poem I wrote this winter

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Pop. I shot you

a look, I thought

you never

would re

member. The last

fading warmth

In early September.

Neon nectar, sipped

by the fleeting

cast iron wind,

stale memories

lap at the leaf

piles which crumple

wound in

ash; innocent

pornography

in the bon

Fire, fury filled hot days

out back,

hiding passion

fruit saturated

alien sheets, stained

with wonder, a pain

so unnamable

that if I even ever tried to

utter it, you'd put

your headphones on, and wait for the sun to rise.

Anyway, my last train

Of thought took you

Away late October, running on steel-rain

rails. Can you take me into your coffee stained train car

night, like the choke breath red-enveloped-entertainer

scalding my rusted ears through the sublime stage

limelight, cheer up this empty dive

bar of a man. You won’t find me

sick like a diesel cocktail blind

man, wondering  aloud on

dry creak road if I raise

my hand you’ll bear

my grip and take

me with you into

your dream,

you had no-

thing else

to give.

I woke up.

Pop.