asleep, but not with gold.

saved from hell
your bass lips
kicked the bucket in the stairwell

and
water fell
back onto
my childhood castle

If I could only lift
you.

up so you could see

anthills, basslines, stereo colored tvs
camps cats hands and dogs
mist tongue dances in the fog

new poem

on
the day we decided to make landscapes together,

flowers.

old poem

art decisions making life processes
funnel web the designer's clothes
into neat piles that you arrange around
your room in Manhattan.

leak speak the breath box
that you gave to me on the eve of our first Christmas
attic lights
the shirt tail

you everything you shining star you.