I wonder how many people
in this city
live on the streets.
late at night
when silence blossoms like tumor on our lips
when even the crickets hesitate
I walk among the shadows
of their past and present.
every face on the sidewalk
looks back at me.
blank stares.
cautious hands.
tired hearts.
and oblivious souls.
I wonder how many people
will come back home
and write this down.
the changing light of the city
whispers to me
as it slowly takes over
the floating land of daydreams,
night swimming into its
foggy arms.
it hides the getaways
and concrete hills
giving way to my reflection
and like yours, it only surfaces up
when my daydreams become
just that, and I,
a fraction of what
my reflection wishes it was.
my thoughts sweep the bay
with the changing light.
a collective existence,
a forceful choice,
all drifting anchorless upon the ocean.
yesterday
i walked out in the streets of
a misty daydream
i stumbled on the sides of
a dozen dead realities
i saw many a men watering
roots of a dead tree
i heard a person die and
many people laughing
i met with an artist whose
art died in love
and i decided i’ll be going back
to forget about today
until tomorrow.
my heavy eyes
rest peacefully on the
air between
and so does the frail
trails of curls.
the twisted tongue
has it sorted out tonight
with a little help from my friends.
there’s only one tune
that would swoon
the dusk into dark.
it won’t be long
before these trained fingers
go to work
yet again, keeping the
soul sane and letting my eyes
smell the Californian rain.
and it’s same every night.
but wait, a slight change is
in the order of our light
tonight.
i just found a dime
in my pocket.
tonight
the clouds are
neither white, nor black
it’s all gray
the lavender moon breathes
quietly.
cigarettes live in the streets of
your mouth
while you dream on
in gray clouds of your smoke.
you’re a beautiful skyscraper
untouched
by the wrecking balls
a butterfly
washed in busted
fire hydrants
a dream
wrapped in pastel
baby blankets
fireflies
plugging their tiny lamps
in and out
of your eyes.
blood pumps like
gasoline
our sweat becomes fire
i crush a star
and sprinkle it in your hair
the warmth of your whisper
is still in my ear.
Life in a blog 