Friday Night

I thought, "Shit my
phone is melting," but it was only
Harry Potter's 3-D glasses on the
stove, the phone was dripping in my hand,
I panicked until someone
built a castle on top of me.
I'm a pawn taking a walk, maybe
I'll take a slightly longer walk, but
only if I'm just starting out, outside
the stars are sparkling at night
though the sky is indigo with old
red white and blue reflections;
who lives there across the alley
with their serial killer 4:08am lights on
in every room but their bedroom and
the door is opened wide, whit and I
are playing a floor above and three stories up
under Tif's covers at the foot
of her bed and his fur is so soft, and shining
black and white, I hold him tight,
I fall asleep, and sleep and sleep
a dreamless tired sleep, dreamless but felt like hours
so maybe Tif the nightmares and what we talked
about are untrue, maybe there's just
nothing and the end.

Joking

At night wishing I could film this image
open (tore back) ceiling where I'm asleep
(no death from sudden adult death syndrome fears)
waiting for someone (Joe, Tif) to climb stairs and find me
alone on white couch under handing light serene,
but I'd have ta play two parts like Lon Chaney or
crazy fool Lindsay Lohan teen remake, ugh
what a thought, right...I sorta entertained it for 20 minutes
reading Book of Dreams I'd be asleep
but flash so clear in mind's-eye what a view from heaven
what a joke without a punch-line clever spin

Surfing

Pepper unattended whisker marks
         on ceiling,
light peeks around corner cold
white darkness,
                         Joe bandana
folded over to infinitesimal dimension talking fast
catapult snow melting without
                                  crisp
breathe the meddling air on the
sidewalk ground pavement window smash
uproarious acid Tommy synchronous
unbending movement in conversation
                                             Dave, sailing
couch gray seas, Tiffany hanging from ceiling sun rise,
                                                       apparently golden

ask and you know

The phone swirling
or the sound pleading to get out
leave the informed the movers the born-with-that-silver-spoon-fuck
wine and before we left weed
in the underbelly charity encore to what?
Oh who gives a shit, Christ it's 10 o'-
I'm a faggot you're a faggot biggest faggot in the--
tell a little story too-
if you can hear it in the morning over
red pounding head with legs,
it's got them anyways
thanks for the call
and missed your voice calling out into nothing