Avocado post war.
Abuela’s ecstatic / ekphrasis pink lipstick.
My boy on the boulevard bubbling.
Triple wick rip tide in my mind.
Paintings about irresponsible ownership:
an autonomous zone the day before
we realized it was an autonomous zone.
That’s the gamble, Meyer said, like moonlight
like wolves walking / not talking.
Graffiti ego in cursive on the skyline
of a chrome low rider
slipping through the badlands
like clouds covering the sea.
Kurdish pomegranate syrup in chthonic Canal St. Martin
or the aboriginal and petrichor Miami. Misunderstood like a mother
fucking monk. Pity the poor and needy
for they shall inherit the infinite.
They know love takes time
is next to nothing
a tender total disbelief
in all at once almost every one says
being is unbecoming. Brothers
and sisters, lavender fields
cryptocurrency. Crypto poetics.
It’s just jazz if jazz were ceaseless.
It’s hard to enjoy living for a living
so I fill the room with these dried flowers
cover myself with cacti
write hymns from black berries on your city skin
like a feathered drone swerving
through spiritual wind.
To all the Lebanese pharmacists I’ve fallen for
to my singular infinite wife
I cut my bleeding heart out with this flip phone
and place it here on the white page
floating in a Tiffany bean blue pool.
Nine to five, but underwater
looking for some shimmering treasure
of a subliminal self, pink and grey
day dreams, super free families
like pointillist green sea spray