Migrations
A boy in the darkness burning candles, shadows
on the ceiling so playful so yellow, reads
Crime and Punishment, follows
furious light inside the sullen mountains across
the rivers seas oceans, obscures
time: July 2020 and the burning planet on TV somewhere
in France or Japan in the morning, he walks
sidewalks of restless town between roofs so
red so black his imagination awakens fear travels
from his toe tips to his head freezes
his eyelids his courage awaits
for dusk again for silence of lackluster distance.
Prison beds are warm firm comforting lifeless
at home unknown out there under the sun, he hears
his name called from beyond the borders of
dream in sleep into the night.
Café Berlin rooms lit in red little boxes watched
from outside, stands on the forgotten underground
rivers, women wear golden wigs and leather boots while
men are the same everywhere on Earth.
He spends his nights in red and neon, stares outside at the
painted black, when he wakes up in the morning goes to
work he thinks of nights and one night outside the Café Berlin.
She stands in the December night in front of a street light, moths
curl her hair she gazes
ten thousand miles away, he feels
the freeze of the winter night, he lights up
and walks away.
He travels only the back roads on a bed carried
by sixteen million ants he rests his arms and legs, looks
at the moving landscapes, faces
drag themselves along in silence, houses with eyes mountains
kneeling dancing bears and fake clowns.
New York City is a house, people shift around its rooms, they live
in its basement wait for the night, nights are safe in cities, they smell
of forgotten bars remains of music, the smell
never surrenders their clothes their memories.
He listens to gypsy reggae, tucks the house away in the little pocket of his
jeans, swarm of smiling bees follows his path, he thinks there is a reason there
is a logic, he stands up in motion, his thoughts fly away with the
bees, the distance never changes only the empty nests stay behind echoing
evidence along its chambers following structures.
Repeat
I take another look at all the
five thousand lives I could’ve
had and pick them one by one
the ripe strawberries
melting in my mouth
inseparable from dream
unstoppable like time
All the lives I’ve begun
for a few years and quit or
the ones I’ve never had
all the people I’ve met and
never seen again
places with homes
houses with windows
staring quietly
paranoid barks of
their dogs calling for
a repeat—
I gaze down the time arrow
and shatter my wit
that will die with me
safe and determined
once again
