Warehouse

Rain leaking through the ceiling,
hitting the metal sink and clinking
as a hammer forging steel.
Dark thoughts in a dark room: pacing,
blowing smoke in circles around the square
perimeter—pitch black.
Drops gong like a church tower
echoing through empty cobblestone.
The rope is ready, hands gripping it like a pull-up bar.
Drips fall to the sound of a prison cell rattling,
patting the surface in perfect seconds.
Kick the stool; you are lost and cursed,
the curtains closing
to the pitch black. Close your eyes and see the back
yard of your childhood home, the downpour luring slugs
and you killed them in your raincoat
with a shake from the salt container.
Mom said it was coming down too hard.
No one calls now; there’s nowhere to go.

– Oakland, CA

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Taken in San Leandro, CA

Optic

Two bodies eclipse suburban lights,
the December night biting fingers left bare.
Our moon is fixed in the finderscope
like a cell under microscope,
the infinite of both directions
explained to me years after.
Sublime white, tunneled eye,
it pierces the dark like a keyhole beam,
a pale rod through the void.
Give me chromosomes, then give me space;
place me at the farthest reach of your gravity.

Grown, the sunset now a gut twist to watch
like a lover leaving in a cab.
Will I miss this too, like you after someone new-
I float through it,
abiding the law that says
I’ll stay the same if left alone.
The boy and father still looking up
at their abandoned universe, searching.

– Oakland, CA

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Taken in Oakland, CA