Catwoman

Her feet arched like orgasms
were trying to break out of her toes.
Body curving like coke bottles making
my mouth water for a sip of your wet kiss –
the thirst is real.

I know it was you landing sauté en
pointes in my fantasies the other night.
No woman nowadays is that
ballerina and stripper simultaneously.

Your voice was a purr that colored
in the carpet red for your catwalk
and I bet you ripped that without
even breaking a sweat.

True beauty is ageless,
but all I have is pictures of you
posing with cigarettes burning
and dimples to die for.

Ironically your a skeleton now buried
six feet deep beneath the ground I walk on.
But still I look up at the heavens
every once in a blue moon for traces of you.

Busking Ave

Across the street from the homeless 
guy begging for change, there’s a 
guitarist whose fingers are puppet 
master enough to turn a passerby 
into a marionette. Its like he’s using 
their spine as steel-string the way they 
boardwalk over to his hardshell guitar case 
and throw money in it, as if were a 
million dollar investment.

Right down the street from him there’s 
a woman with a voice that sounds like 
she doused it in the blood of a sinking 
slave-ship. Every time she hits a high-note 
you can feel the whips being welted on 
your back. The onlookers always leave 
with teary eyes and pocket lint.

Around the corner from her a man with 
a bible pledged across his chest preaches 
of the rapture and repentance. 
Most people avoid eye contact or are still 
dumbfounded from the guitarist and singer. 
He knows this, but also understands each 
of their duties represent an essential stage in life.

So at the end of the night, they all pack up 
and head for the train station together.

The Big Apple Pt. 2

Today, 
we bit off more than we could chew 
and the bitterness left the butterflies 
in our stomachs tied in knots.

They threw stones at our glass air castles 
and it shattered into masterpieces of sliced 
pies in the sky that fed our spirits with new 
aspirations.

The Statue of Liberty waited majestically 
with her legs wide open, hoping a man 
brave enough comes along and fathers 
the blessings she delivers to the world.

After hours of hard labor and pushing for dear life, 
new visions were conceived in New York City.

The sun kept its eye on us the whole time, 
just to make sure we always looked on the 
bright side. Our future is bright, however we 
still refuse to blink for fear of missing an 
opportunity scamper across our path again.

The Big Apple

Today we will bravely amble 
through earth’s concrete jungle 
and take a bite out of the big apple.

Its sweet juice dripping of destiny will 
be like gatorade for our parched souls. 
Its fruit will fill our malnourished hearts 
up with buffets of life long memories.

We will paint the city red with our own blood, 
then take a maestro step back and ohh and 
aah at the future unfolding like literature 
before our eyes. And even if they throw stones 
at the glass air castles we live in, they will only 
shatter into masterpieces of sliced pies in the 
sky ample enough to feed generations.

As I lie my head ghostly against this headrest 
playing musical chairs with slumber, I imagine 
this is what it looks like when a dream is coming true.

To be continued…

The Poor Poet

Even if you stared at the moon through 
a telescope with bifocals on you still 
wouldn’t see the big picture; 
wouldn’t feel the mountains moving 
at the wand cue of your faith.

This is where impossible becomes the 
laughing-stock of a visionaries dreamworld - 
across the street from drunkards ave 
and around the corner from miscreants 
boulevard.

We dodge the hands of our predecessors 
demons the same way corner boys do 
policeman.

Being that curious boy has taught me more 
than you could imagine.
We have more in common than you think.

The only difference is when our 
surroundings told us it was a dead end, 
we were too alive and hardheaded to listen.

Realistic Fantasies

Isn’t it astonishing that we breathe 
the same air as those whose reality 
is our fantasy; whose world is alien 
enough to be a separate planet.

Somewhere someone just got a 
phone call that made them drop 
down on their knees and thank God 
for their cup, which has runneth over.

Somewhere else someone just got a 
phone call that made them drop down 
on their knees and beg God to spare 
them from this cup of suffering.

That sky you gape at when the 
sun shines is the same one I 
mourn for when the rain pours.

Our bank accounts may say 
we’re different species, but our 
hearts understand each other 
quite clear.

I’m sure since you still follow 
yours, you would agree that its 
the best compass for leading 
a life of happiness.