Wet Dream


And now that the body is sated
The mind must have its share,
Like the summery sounds of
Children and rats scurrying
Underneath the stairs,

Tween the waking and
The dreaming, where
Dreams lie down to sleep,
Dead upon the reaching
Where expectations cease,

Scuttling through the
Air where downturned
Grins turn up in frowns
Of liquid lust, I tripped
Upon the maker and
Exploded on the spot,

Like the wild call of
Humidity o’er the slick
Veneer of the plump
Lawn chair, me and
The pretty pink
Flamingos and
The feral night air,
Hanging on to
the lightning

In a gob of fisted light,
Like the edge of hungry
Semen sowing a perfect
Night like rolling beads
Of sweat, rolling towards

The basement where the
Tapes are on full blast,
Bobby and the Band
Bending out notes
On a big pink spoke,

Where the wheels of
Rage tear just like joy
underneath the wild
cacophony of each
girl and boy, hiding
under the banister

Where the sun goes to rest,
inside the sound of crickets
And children playing
Underneath the stairs,

I wandered past the wonder
Til wonder took its course,
Like a discarded toy
Who’s outrun his worth,
Wandering through the forest
With batteries running low.