blue island ave., 1:30 am/5:30 am

snakeskin

when you go alone

late into the night,

stripped of ordinary lies

and practiced gestures, 

your last name’s 

apt to slip away

in this dark, wind

lowlaid, eyes veiled

or lighted like sparklers,

selfhood grows so

fragile, so weak

called forward only 

by some sweet vermillion 

song, forever unheard

in the warm distance,

no eye turned to your 

meandering pursuit

and soon you’re just 

a snake shedding it’s

skin; but the night runs

from you; it steals away

into the sun and returns 

you to your home

and when the day comes,

you’ll find everything 

you’d forgotten, for 

better or for worse, laid 

again upon your nightstand

and there won’t be a soul 

alive to recall just how 

beautiful you were in 

those empty moments,

snakeskin littering the 

pavement at your feet

sunday morning

another great shadow’s

passed across the bend;

a new pair of bright-eyed

children have turned

around the wooden corridor

to bring the light in

now i open eyes the

same as yours, even when

they’d shut as could mine

alone just a few hours before

no matter how short the 

night, how restless the

sleep, a new morning is here

all that vanished at the day’s

end has been returned, and 

my head’s empty but for

the big warm gratitude–

i can see myself clearly now, 

and soon i’ll see you too