little haiti will never be my eden--

and i will never eat its fruit --

hello,
i am an explosion.
a godsend.
i have traveled this feeble distance with
teeth and neck and bruises
at the back of my mind.

if things were perfect you would
own me.
my lips on your wrist would let you know
the east side's swallowed me
and Collins Avenue isn't
Collins Avenue
without you home.

trying to sleep the salt water out of my hair,
i still wake up
to a friend being a stranger
on the other line --

no listen:
i choked on an apple this evening
while the sky was choked with smoke.
(there is a biblical symbolism in this
that i am unwilling to discuss) --

but
no listen:
last night i kissed a stranger
and swam naked in the sea;

with you, with you --

and i would take every highway's
broken glass
to keep you here,
except it changes half the story


to keep you whole.