i.
abandoned storefronts, choppy gravel. my tongue, distant as chueca, metro azul. a thief tried to rob me & i laughed. stab me, i said, in this crowded plaza

ii.
littered floor. black boots, t-shirts, tight jeans. a lady screams in spanish. a man screams back reckless sound waves. my hands work to muffle screams from another voice, more foreign than those in the alley

iii.
lights on 7th go one way. green. green always. i see red, pretend it's green

iv.
garbage trucks, screaming infants, car horns. i rent this room & forego sleep

v.
i absorb her words, her images. i want to watch her hands create; ask if she remembers those times i saw her

i absorb best by touch. i can't touch her. she wouldn’t remember me anyway, head far above tight spaces where my type waits with heavy lungs.

funny how water can kill or make clean
i have water issues
that have nothing to do with my building's bad plumbing
or the ants that come in through cracks in the plaster
drawn by wet wood
but at night time
the tidal wave hits me
sometimes i fall over the stream
(or just jump)
i need to be clean
and in the day nothing changes
only i'm awake
suffocated by want
always clean
but arms like string
i never learned to swim.