For Berlin: A Poem

Where you from?
The States.
Where exactly?
Philly.
What?
Philadelphia.
But you live here?
Yeah.
For how long?
Don’t know.
Since when’d you arrive?
New Years Eve.  
Fresh.
I guess.
Want in?

Standing on the dance floor after the 5th
Thinking
Not-thinking.
Feeling the bones.
the muscles.
The muscly mind.
the heart.
Ringing.

Leigh's eyes when we danced.
The strobes, 
Disappearings.
Looking in her eyes a little too hard.
Dilated pupils flashing with fear.
Like a dying horse.

He was just a modernist.
Figuring it all out.
Walsaw.  Oh Waslaw. 
Sing to me O muse of passion.
O muse of light and darkness.
Of God and all the other shit.

How you sing my blood like serpents.
How it dances in the veins.

The ribs dropped and the organs expanded.
The underside was felt.
The foot pedaled anew.
The music penetrated differently.
The trochanters wrapped.
The breath moved independent from mind.
The music got better.
So did the dance.

What was he so afraid of?
What are they all so afraid of.

Witchy witchy witch witch.
Witchy witch.
Witch.
Witchy witchy witchy witch.
Witch witch.
Which.
Which way.
Witch.
Witch way.
Witch-Way.
Which way witch.
which way, witch?
David was at Kit Kat when that guy died last week.
“I’ve been in the Israeli army... we see a lot of deaths,’ he said

Dean came as I was sitting with David between my legs.
Dean’s special eyes.
We kissed.

Speed dick.
Visions

His body food.
colorful cakes.
pancreatic pies.
blueberry beards.
eyes closed, everything edible.
Visions.
a stynesthesic sensuality between fits and bouts of sleep.
And then Emmas vagina boiling hot.
Her leather mask glittering with chains.
You could still see her eyes 
Her body easy to love.
Her mouth small
Tongue tiny
Tender.
She pushed me against the wall.

I asked my rib to release.
My hand moved over my throat
The techno thumping thumping
Thunder lighting.
third eye raging.
ribs dropping
organs expanding, compressing over and over again.
the weight going down, the lungs down, the diaphragm down down 

Talking with Jeff.
Feeling so maudlin.
Feeling so warm.
A smile peaking at the back of my head.
The cranial sacral sweet spot.
The occiput opening.
High.
Kiss 
me.
I feel something 
something that makes me want to jump in your cells and dance there slowly.
Feeling each muscle, each bone shift monumentally
Why does skin have to be so thick?
So perceptibly separate?
Why can’t it all just be one universal blob?
I don’t want to kiss you.
I want to be you.
To decorate myself with your veins.
To coat myself in your juice.
Your feet to be my socks and your hands my gloves.
Why can’t the column collide with mine?
And my feet be the floor?
Why do we have names for all that is nothing?
I want to become a monk.
No more ecstasy.
No more drugs.
No more highs.
No more lows.
No more techno.
No more friends. 
No more boys. 
No more sex.
No more faking.
No more fashion.
No more heart.
No more fades.
No more visions.
No more spells.
No more magic.
No more porn.
No more color.
No more deaths.
No more.
I want the room to be clean and consistently

How to land in this body?
How to land in this body?
How to land in this world?
How to land in this universe?
How to land 

How to land When your house is a business.
When your food is a business.
When your pet is a business.
When your phone is a business.
When your electric is a business.
When your vibe is a business.
When your bed is a business.
When your sleep is a business.
When your mind is a business.
When your thoughts are a business.
When your water is a business.
When your books are a business.
When your body is a business.
When your walls are a business.
When your lights are a business.
When your hair is a business.
When your eyes are a business.
When your heart is a business.
When you are a business.
When you are a business.
When your spirit is a business.
When your love is a business.
When your world is a business.
When everything’s business.

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