The Mirage is Real

Say yes! goddammit.

The mirage is real.


Poaching the small hours
the laptop’s glow, the cursor’s death
I’ve come here to breathe and write
and I’m all out of breath;

holding you
responsible for the increase of hospital bed mentions
in my poems.


We meet one night outside that busy bar
on Orion’s belt –not sure which star of three, I confuse their names–
and you tell me about this life, here, and I tell you it never happened;

architecting the unimaginable.


Now, counting without numbers;

tongue tendentious, tigers in her eyes
she walks with a step that revolutionizes summers



the mirage is real

Kandinsky – Three Riders in Red, Blue and Black