Unswept concrete
  and naked buckets
all wrapped up in the sky.

  Unseen rhythms
in conversation, a slow
 hum beat of amplitude,
  of people, names, faces,
 and electricity,
all seated with
   unimitatable poses,
laughing, waiting,

Whether going through
 the moves or dancing
   quaintly, or even paired
already; the music
of uncertainty sits
     between us all.

A cool stretch, the
 lighting of a cigarette,
someone secretly rolling
  a spliff amongst
         everyone; a
new beer and the half
finished one sitting
  lonely by the

All of it, and me,
 continue to exist,
  with the stars,
while my mind

An Orgasm Imagined

An orgasm imagined
       past twilight,
  greasy jeans in the

With a spliff
   waiting nervously,
    and everyone
  refraining from finishing
     their last half a
  beer, the conversation
turns to witch doctors,
   as I tune out,
         for now.

The whole mur-mur
of talking and singing
     and forgetting,
 into an intense crescendo,
  the pinnacle of
   Monday Night,
     most sauced,
rain evaporating
  quickly off
     ceramic tile
during the lull
       of the wind. 



there she is,
having been waiting,
I, nervously, stand uncomfortably
as she sways to an
unknown beat.
And I sway to, not knowing
exactly what is going
The subtle sweat,
people from nowhere,
bodies tear at the walls,
the crowd
becoming an entity
in and of itself,
eternally whole,
as the creature eats away,
like the winter’s
at the truth.

I can’t wait
any longer, the music's
sped up, leaving me
a beat behind, and you (she),
the woman I’ve done the
waiting for, the beat that fits
the gap, the lips that
fit so nicely with mine,
my hand in your flawless
hair, the music stopped
for a minute.

Your eyes full of night,
and tepid
sensually aware,
asking for it,

The music in the stars,
an empty green
plastic cup,
everything as sensual
as two figments of my
fingering their way through
the dark.