A work-in-progress...

AQUIFER

in the arc
above my daydreams
i saw fireworks in blood
sketching out the profile
of forgotten saints

as the pulse of my apartment walls
traded sleep for coins of permanence
and trucks down the street
blasted chambers into concrete hearts

I thought of winter and
poured another rakia

visions
silouhette of visions
visions and rumors of visions
never stopping at the door
swirling on in
eddies of uncontested color

the color of madness
in plain shoes
finding their way from sidewalk to window
and slinging the days back from
when she had time for my lies
allowing me graceful exits from
my own failed sermons and
this plaster prison

i see for once that
time is loaded into copper jackets
waiting in clocks and computer screens
to open up anywhere
on the chance to grieve

as the passing boom of
car-stereos below my window
thunder up the glory of speeding youth
and crash in beautiful terminus
the curves and whispered bend
of saturday night into no tomorrow
there are wishes and

blankets that need folding
cupboards to stock and
voice-mail reminders
that pick at my skin like constant divorce

but i swim in the exit stream

to sheer linen flags
over summer yards
where radios and picnics
steep themselves in the
eyes of a thousand boys and girls
shaking off the incense and intimidation

under the ribcage was worst
though it didn't show and
you could walk it off
eventually

to the creek
down to the banks
under the elms and
into the shade of uncertainty
with a crumpled pack of
menthol courage

i saw lightning

trains roared and hawks circled
although these days I haven't
had to dodge either one

and I often wonder
as I wait for traffic lights to change
what the Iroquois word for surrender was

as 15 year-old tabby cats
thread my ankles
in figure-eights
Tuesday morning repeats itself

in tongues of persistance
barbed and fireproof
from the walls of variety
though here is a pattern

to blend into the hardwood
and stay in the kitchen
where no one speaks of
silouhette stains
under the sink

though lights across
the street change floor to
floor and wink through their curtains
at me tapping out a smile
on this keyboard of sparks
and deliverance.

Alexei Ramirez. The Next Clemente ?

Of course not. He doesn't have the upper-body strength of "Bobby".

All he has is speed and charisma.
And a knack for game-winning moves.

How do you say "messiah" in Cuban ?