from a porch, rain is coming

grafted personalities with wind-blown hairdos did the desert dance in sand filled bedrooms while clutching arid histories against milk depleted breasts

hope crumbled as swirling dirt devils divided what happened

with

what was wished for

we can’t taste the innocence of a sour dairy kiss anymore, without wondering which farm you wandered away from

developing a future, progeny

will cease

birds will fly

dogs will bark

worms will weasel through holes, no longer visiting the sea

we came together, for destruction

brought together, so they could continue on

from a strange bed, short lived insight

standing in line waiting for you to come out

leaving the door open would have helped me hear the shouts of your bruised arms battling another night wishing he’d come home

it doesn’t matter that we stayed

he couldn’t stand to reflect on the bed we made, believing tonight was the last time we’d feel hope

go to sleep now

it’s time

from a couch, lucky to run

they want to save the snow leopards

selling lemonade

cars stop, smiles and exchanges occur, habitual customs, they walk away quietly dumping uncovered sugar contents in street gutters before careening suburban corners without a seatbelt

money fills the jar, to keep alive childhood rituals, symbols that innocence existence on street corners

in white neighborhoods

she wants to go to disneyland

selling water below one bedroom paranoia, people walk-by, needing sustenance, they acquiesce, money hits her palm, fear-threatened people make phone calls to police

for black children

i’m neither, them or they

i’ve been told i shouldn’t speak this way, given my experience

i can pretend i’ve been ostracized, falsely accused, driven away, left raising money for myself, not for far away fur creatures

disneyland, it’s better than lunch

fortune finds us all, believing it’s monetary, the start of our fall

relatable situations, empathy

we’re not as far apart as any of us want

we’re all selling something on street corners, in backseat of uber lyfts, alone in the car-pool lane

our desire to connect without commitment, ensures we all know our place

from a couch, dead leaves

heaving

gasping for breathe while every leaf-raked emotion blows around my head again, kicked up, stirred, perfect-compartment piles shuffled through, kicked to the wind by your decision to enter again

through the front door

a home purposefully redecorated, walls torn down, your face not found, closets cleaned, memories unforgiven, now, NOW, you walk through the front yard on an autumn afternoon seeking refuge whilst destroying order

did you see the sidewalk?

what was in front of you?

that’s what led to tight lipped moments together

your inability to understand the means

an end

which means

you have no understanding of what this means, implications, outcomes, your finality, it’s in sight

again

you need to be told twice

don’t think

it’s alright

i’ll use a blower next time, and burn the remnants of early spring’s green hope

from a porch, neighborhood dreams

it’s real

that sensation that starts at the fingers of a forgotten friend and finds its way through you, holding hands wishing the sway would turn to a grasp and lead to rolling in freshly watered grass, overcoming discomfort in the name of passion, spontaneity

finding buttons and zippers to undo and divide, blissfully panting, newfound pride found in rhythmic pulses leading to shouts of freedom, letting go of every inhibition, primal yelps breaking neighborhood night silence in a park down the street from where our parents lived

and once loved

they had fake smiles and handshakes, birthday parties and shared steaks sizzling on wedding present grills pouring friday night puffs of community into styrofoam streets

neighbor coveted neighbor coveted neighbor, swapping stares as sundresses flipped up while planting perennials along front lawn borders, a tasteful fence

fears were multiplied when we started to subdivide and ran away from what made us great

what’s real?

the feel of coming back to plastic childhood haunted backyards, and parading in twenty year old libido with the next door pigtails you always wanted

from a couch, back in pocket

i packed the information deep in the crease of a car seat waiting for him to return from his midnight run to the south-side of town where whispers were captured and drowned in the effervescent moon glow

building intensity until climax and i should change my shorts before i return unless you can convince them the squirm in my heels and kicks of my legs are due to an innocent grabbing of my sinister stick plucked and peeled from the family tree i fell out of two weeks before the beginning of jail night stays

i commit the crime, and they saw it that way, wishing wicked thoughts would welcome whatever it is you drink before toxic conversations turn to fists breaking flesh and “i hate you’s” that are healed by mornings aching eyes, rolling over and smelling thighs until you realize it’s the thought of disappointment you dispose of in accidental dumpster fires where once and again, forever, and never will my rod bend when i capture a glimpse of your stagnant water wishing it had taken a left instead of a right down the middle, play it safe bullshit life without a fight to call me to help during hellfire deliveries, packages banged and rearranged wondering which doorstep you live behind

i knew waiting for you would spin into this

the information is there

deep in your seat

take a look

from a porch, i’m a lot of things

i can be an asshole

power playing, guilt laying, asshole

underneath intentions i grasp for attention, working the math

this might shock most of you

you’re probably right

yet, i know my thoughts, the ones where i stand upright casting line after line into shallow waters working to pull you to shore

i didn’t say i was an asshole

i said, i can be

i can be a lot of things

i can be self-loathing, nothing stacking up to the cups everyone else seems to know how to fill

i can be charming, the right words colliding into endearment

i can be genuine, listening with truth, wrestling with vulnerability

i can be manic, organized pieces finding their home simultaneously, multi-task

i can be sad, tears

i can be shy, hiding

there’s more, dimensions, corners to peek in, both you and i

acknowledgement, a decision to embrace our totality

i can be an asshole

depends on how hard you look