Pop's Face

My succulent summer sweat
your painted kiss a proud prow pulling
your moontanned flesh headfirst into every cigarette conversation
busted nailbed
your tumbling breath a soft morning booze
or the memory of a sad dream falling
life lived backwards

wet handling swindling vodka pirouette sense of yourself
twostep suckling some mumbling stranger's musk
silver serpents twisting under Christmas lights and cologne
ecstasy of our own courage
ashen cheek scruff gramps pulling on our shoestrings
begging with slippery French turn-of-phrase
we'd not lose heart
nor become two heads
dance now the same songs
eat the holy food
worship deceased Sunday morning saints
hate the same way too

I told you in a dark disruption
in night's quiet sanctuary
I stole another man's face

the black sky hung low with a moistened heat
heavy hearted locust sang laments to those
long lost years lived underground
rows of blow furrowed by plastic capitalist till
two-dimensional pocket pussy
a penny in the pretty pony by the vending machine last night
where your lips met the new air
let go of the old air
also came this soft whisper like a lizard purring

I have his face now

you moved and your hair fell in disheveled script
the seal between us tightened
a lonely street light lacing through the blinds cast the
only gold in the room
ugly yellow late night gold
where so many cigarettes found fond perch
these words slipped out
     of that painted kisser prowl,

you don't have to be him, you said.

TA
10/24