A convoluted thing poem...

Let’s swim

to the moon, (ah-ha)
Let’s climb through the tide

pretend for a moment that this maze
of rooftop quadrants cradles me

your head a pillow book somewhere
near my breast beating hymns

to smoke; shorter than signal flares
siren wails and red carpets’ glare.

I’ve a thorn in my side
the same in English as in Spanish,

maybe a two tongued janus – jade us
now latch my lips for keeping

in moist and severed gardens
away from bone yard gravity

in the evening’s wound of the sun,
a shameless grammar appears

filching flirts from the underdressed.
Unhook my skin from the night

so that it might drape us over with yellow
stars the color of el camino headlights

pushing wheal barrows of dust into wind
seems possible when we’re left to

Penetrate the evenin’ that the
city sleeps to hide

moontop myths brought the fog
which will appear as it was

if perception went to bed.