fiction 

a sun day

 

bringing maverick steez 

to this verbal rodeo, you-

pink-lipped, 

blond-tipped

ego-tripped 

soft purple-eyed cowboy

 

tired on the train but gushing

waterfalls of language

that erupt from encounters

at the Hudson edge of the world

 

where the tides are black 

and the city’s a diamond,

no longer made of stone-

it’s crystal eyes’ed

 

like a sutra I haven’t 

read, gold and teal and red,

sunburnt & making moves

to no kind of Beat

with a Coney Island kind of Zen

 

you low-key looking foxlike & aglow

behind teal shades

while I’m running my mouth

about the futurereligiouspolicestateonMars

 

yeah like maybe I should

be more into ego individuation or whatever

but my heart’s gone in you:

 

a sweet mystical shrine where

everything shines from,

where everything spills from- 

 

jade vines 

and crackling lightning 

on this dust-dazed candy-colored

familiar kind of Sunday.