Not quite 9

In 1989

I awoke in Ladispoli,

an inception of consciousness rose from the bed with me…

disarming my sleep,

against dust with form and rhythmic quality

I tiptoed to the opened balcony…

Bums in the sewers sang in their

sea salted skin.

While the Tyrrhenian nightfall aired, gasping from dream

I slumped my eyes over crumbs and a council of pigeons beneath…

The timing and tone teased unrest from my heart.

As I watched the galaxy part with its lights.

Enough for walls of the buildings to weep.

While the sky opened its eye and stared right back into me

I went BOOM!

and swallowed it whole with the stink and perfume making gods in the point of the light in me.

I grow a visceral fever right here

in between line breaks and stanzas

where time shows and

reveals in a space

my Borrowed

and Drifting

stages of Wandering