escape from jersey city

peppermint chamomile dreamin’

half-tea fuzzy sleepwalking to

where logic and yogic converge

climbing up the palisades

spiked hands on abstracts

tourniquet in fever-sheets

strands of hair caught in knots

like bark splitting gums from teeth

killing metropolis, called the cops

off the grid, no river too wide to cross—

you know where you’re going,

but do you know where you’ve been?



it is unlikely, I told myself,
but if we do
like people tend to do:

I will melt, boil, and scorch you
in the old-fashioned way
until you’re nothing more chemically complicated
than  black treacle on hot leather carseats

you’ll stick with me
caffeinated dreams, cloud spittle
a film of sweat of your breath
where my lips idle in an O
while I listen to your talking

movement anywhere but everywhere
will be impossible —
you will become a poet and the muse:
words flood as if all this time
you’ve been a river dammed from its canyon

you’ll question whatever a word was worth,
when you can speak your peace with a glance
— and you will save all your best glances and pieces
for me

it is unlikely
as much as coincidence and fate are synonyms
stochastic as the correlation between your appearance
and my sudden lack of sleep
I wouldn’t bet on my memory as far as you could throw me
but I can’t forget that glint in your eye taunting,
I know of something you don’t yet