Heaving Jazz

Western delusions

ran

mucking

through my

pollinated head

heaving jazz

and howled erotica,

listening to sirens out of

townhouse windows,

smoking cigarettes,

outside of idle bars,

being awkward

with half-strangers,

kundalini rising,

keeping your

stories with me

while drinking

irish eight balls

in cozy yet

judgemental

hipster habitats,

rolling eyes and

deep sighs with

much coughing.

My fucking god,

the bullshit that flew

carelessly out of your mouth,

is starting to reek,

good heavens sir,

cant you just shut up

for a second,

faint away if you must

for awhile,

whilst I listen

to your heart beating,

keeping

rhythms with

the tilts of the planet.

ugh,

enough already

with the

half-assed rhetoric,

oops,

I mean,

sorry,

I get grumpy with

so much,

weather mending,

headaches raving,

cancer reigning,

what not.

I tried to be calm,

casual in

my breathing

and speaking low

now,

in dirty sex tones,

no offense,

just my nature,

coming to play

with the mist round the moon.

I was favored

in the twilight hours

by flocks of crows

roaring out

our deaths

on the pavement,

and I happened to hear

you,

in your dreams,

talking to yourself,

signs of the crosses,

tarot cards and

wounds tearing

in the dark.