A poem A thought A dream

I determined to rhyme
in the diamond night
soaked ruby red cloudy
with wine poured over
our open mouths,
slop-slop-slop
past the corner deli,

I had wished,
dreamed? as I dampened sleeply
under the bus stop roof-less plexi-glass,
to rhyme for you something
like opened skies
that would make you see what
I could never-

under the diamond night sky
growing cold and sharp,
cutting at the purple clouds seeking the sun,
a thick and tangible exorcism,
which we wrought together-

scrawl with blunt pencil
ash gray streaking red across
nighttime paper,
daytime white but filled with the
blackness of the void forever
at war with burning stars

in the diamond night
grown red, I hoped to rhyme
before the waking magnifying glass
sun perched above us
chasing the-

How can I write when the
trees are merely sacred for a cause?
When the phone shines brighter than word?
Where the place supercedes the means?-

blistering cold inhabiting
the core of this being
huddled in the dawn of universes
waiting for- passing hand-outs-
the end of beginnings,

where we start
and create the word and it's
tumbling out of us absurd,
so you yell into the face of the thing-
red- and it shatters the night- empty,
but not so sad,
that we can't laugh and take
another drink and a toast-

to falling stars and the dreams that make-
beginning.