another queen on 24th

The power of an old queen.

I stare at her until she returns my gaze. She has all my attention, I stare- a smile

on my face, turquoise cup in hand- coffee is steaming.

She holds my eyes, takes me in. She has ash on her forehead...seconds later she wears a

smile as well. The apron over her clothes is checkered blue and white and faded

with use and laundry. I mouth "HOLA" and she nods and smiles at me. An old queen who

could be drenched in jewels and rich velvets and silks, her smile is a treasure of jewels her

scepter grants. A humble woman, I bow at her feet, so thankful with contact.

Jessica is a photographer too, she especially likes taking photos of her mom.

As old women turn goblets of

rainwater into bitter wine with their

stare, I push past feasts.

Tables covered with chicken and turkey, the

scents of glazed hams suffocate.

Blindly I move with eyes closed,

stumbling on stone steps.

My center leads as I try to quiet stomach and mind.

There is almost darkness, just tiny

glints of candlelight enter between the cracks of my eyelids, undeterred

by eyelashes.

My gown is itchy- crinkling with each step.

Made out of cheap fabric, it gives the illusion of royalty without

the silks.

My skin asks for velvet- something soft.

When I reach my room, past all these distractions; I will slip out

of this garment... walk naked to the balcony.

With a body covered white, moonlight dripping from my fingers; I will

jump into the river below- icy is its kiss.

This beautiful Oaxacan woman sold me delicious food. I should have asked her name.

This sunset stretches-

time lapsing and still it endures and bestows a

brilliant orange for my eyes to feast,

my heart to grasp with tears,

sweetened with pleasure.

Streaks electrified by the mystery of color,

the glowing of songs that change the

chemistry of a boundless sky.

The window is small, I see

only blue muffin shaped clouds, almost a grey-ish black-

lines, massive streaks of orange and pink at the ends of earth and

the most round blue that defies gratitude with its beauty.

A blue to eat with a turquoise spoon.

A blue to lick carefully, with curiosity.

A color that sparkles as well with the first star. And it continues.

dream that has stayed

We were in the resting spot of an incredible magic tree, surrounded by moving nougat waters. Magic people lived in a world close to the enchanted tree. We swam to the island of a tree from a submerged car, a huge suburban that Leeza felt immortal in- like she could drive anywhere or over anything. A pretty young Burner-looking type sat on a bench, her clothes and skin drenched in dried nougat residue, covering her like fairy dust. She had dreadlocks and artfully tattered clothes. In the place were many limbs spring forth from a lovely truck, we resided.
Waiting for the dream to move forth.

When everyone is a victim,

regarding the past-

with hindsight so magnificently clear and sparkling

that the blind have visions;

we rest,

in the smiles that have settled on our faces.

Sunday night at 36,000

Cities looks like clustered galaxies

linked together with cluttered order

and vast blackness.

From a view,

thousands of atoms of distance-

still a quick jump away.

Blue that descends to a rich orange and pink red.

Calm fills the air,

within my cells and behind this think window.

the number behind an orange vest, your name???

the moon is full, but clouded from my face by low hanging blankets of mist,

easily disguising the reasons for my tears.

quickly i am swept in the tides of my emotions, moving from laughter and sly smiles to

cliff jumping tears and energetic earthquakes.

i am naked despite my gold silk, bought cheap and worn well

with my old fashioned knee high socks; so, so reminiscent of early erotica.

my skin glows white in front of this box, an artificial moon, allowing me to shift.

i lay awake and think of a long, interesting hand on my cheek, agreeing with a "see-er,"

number 47 or 49 about my beauty.

momentarily i am stunned by love and affection. i smile, unable to articulate.

touched, my heart moves tears to quickly fill my eyes. they work together as a clever team.

he said " i love you guys."

we could probably count the times this has passed though a mouth so lovely, bringing a spirit of dance and deep earth chants and knocking down my gates.

in a position so sterile and utterly bureaucratic, reminding me of a Russia i have never seen.

where lines of cars wait and push forward.