There is a method to starting a bike.
A deliberateness, a pause, before every step.
Keenly detecting flecks of dust, dried droppings
Of crows, of oil leaked and sticking like paste
Mixed, with the finest of grains
Wiping it all clean.
Flipping back the stand, inserting the key
And turning it right, assured of the green light,
You depress the lever; throttle closed,
Carefully pressing your foot down on the kicker
You pause – again, before bringing it down again
Gently, but firmly and swiftly,
Listening to the plug catching a spark.
As the engine sputters to life, you listen to the thuds, even.
With such intimacy, with almost love, you listen
To the throb; your bike is alive.
I stand before the mirror,
Barely able to see my face,
My whole life in front of me,
Hopes and dreams to embrace,
I stand before the mirror,
Not liking what I see,
Small for my age,
Changes occurring constantly,
I stand before the mirror,
Excited about my future,
Lofty goals still I hold,
Naively full of optimism,
I stand before the mirror,
Uncertain of what’s to come,
Full of dedication and determination,
As I’m still young,
So distant a memory,
The images are blurred,
Events discontinuous,
Details forgotten,
Time has lapsed in such great quantity,
It shall be like a first once again,
Quivering at the very thought,
Yet desirous for it to happen,
To feel her lips upon mine,
Feel her warm breath,
Wake up to her smile,
Feel my heart pound in her presence,
To trust her with my thoughts,
Trust her with my secrets,
Trust her with my heart,
Trust her with my feelings,
Kind and loving,
Generous and nurturing,
Hard-working and wise,
Good with elders and children,
Laid back and funny,
Loyal and honest,
Close to her family,
Confident yet modest,
Communicative and patient,
As personable as one can get,
Sweet and diligent,
Can get along with anyone,
Never takes for granted,
Appreciates the little things,
Doesn’t become complacent,
Loves me for me,
I once hit my head
so hard
dreams leaked out
they were semi-solid
things
gelatinous and transluscent
like something from the dark
reaches near the bottom
of the ocean
pale, icy colored reds and blues and greens
I could never view them directly
but only from the corner
of my eye
there were not many
perhaps half a dozen?
if I allow life to slow
He does the things,
I think about..
I'm quite shy,
He is quite loud..
He is so far..
Yet so close,
I'm catching sleep,
Just to dream more..
So, what if..
We haven't met,
The heavens assured,
They are fixing a date.
My eyes looked into yours.
Was I accidentally falling for you?
Little did I know that I was.
Your dreams ran into mine.
Was it a coincidence?
We were very similar.
I never thought I would need you so much.
Who knew that your time would change all of mine?
I never planned for these moments with you.
This is a richly appointed headache
and in my dream
the gun shoots water
I escape by swinging
from a low branch
onto a moving truck
before I am caught empty handed.
i would be eight people and then the difficulties vanish
only as one i contain the complications
in a warm house roofed with the rib-cage of an elephant
i pass my grey mornings re-running the reels
and the images are the same but the emphasis shifts
the actors bow gently to me and i envy them
their repeated parts, their constant presence in that world
i would be eight people each inhabiting the other's dreams
walking through corridors of glass framed pages
telling each other the final lines of letters
picking fruit in one dream and storing it in another
only as one i contain the complications
and the images are the same, their constant presence in that
world
Shapes of times quaver and mutually reflect,
lightening the transcenium
with sparks of gay and minuscule emphasis.
The lone hitch-hiker stands out and plucks up a number
everyone knows, and collides in the atmosphere
about him. Unstaggered but still moving,
his generator throbs one, two more times.
He's a perfect replication of the primal source,
more potent and triangular than the campus
that betrayed him and on which he was based.
I try to indulge every passion, even that,
half-guilty and overwhelming, for a fat
hamburger, onions and a shake. Meanwhile
the restaurant gleams and dips out of view.
I ask you for it to go, please, and you look
like someone fearful of infection, as though
It is very late.
I must be disturbing everyone
with my typing.
A shoe
comes in the window.
A nice shoe.
It seems to be
smiling at me.
I'll keep it.
When do I fall asleep?
Now the police come.
I am accused of disturbing
the peace. Neighbors
stand in the door.
I get the shoe.
Holding it
In his dream he was at the end
of a long hall.
Was it a dark hall?
At the other end of the hall he saw the nude figure of his
father
bent over an object he could not define
moving up and down.
He began to walk down the hall, walk
towards his father.
As he came closer he saw
his father was pumping up and down up and down
working with a bicycle pump
blowing something up.
Arriving he saw his father was pumping
a goomey women she got bigger and bigger
and his father kept pumping