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  • I had it pretty good for some time, child.
    Garden of delights, swimming along with a
    lady on my arm, all the mangoes a monkey
    could ask for and the soft skin of youth

    held fast and quiet against my clumsy grasp,
    so when the daylight delivered a resounding
    silence where there was once laughter, or
    even touching arguments, time and love turned

    into an empty bowl, a dried out hammock
    that pulsated like a bruised cheek, held up by two
    trees, winnowed by breezes humming in a minor
    key, separated quickly, defiantly from a king

    who holds court in unresolved dreams, landscapes
    that provide no escape, only mirrors that
    shine on scars, turn clay into dust,
    statues into half-torn tickets, a departing

    train heading down into some cavern,
    away to some carnival, where beneath every
    mask is a stranger, a spectator, a familiar
    set of teeth that are touched by lips

    wine, gems, rain, cornmeal,
    tracing the reflection of God’s eyes on
    the streets where we all march to our
    own beat, hoping for some more good times

    ahead, despite the dread or regret

    despite the dread, the regret

    Your hands still have my heart in them,
    Your smile is the crescent of my city,
    Your pouting mouth, my pillow
    Your hair, my forest, my canopy

    I’d stretch out a string of stars for you
    to walk on, if there was even a glimmer
    of a chance
    we could meet again.
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