pink gum

my eyes fall out of their sockets and dangle 

by threads of pink gum spinning wildly 

in ever smaller circles to discover the 

Meaning of (my) Life,

canvassing the ground for the speckles 

of dust free from grime, urine, the deep-seated knowledge

of too many people,

for purity or the promise of it

not trampled underfoot by boots and boots and boots and heels and tapping toes and clicking claws and pizza cheese squelching and my eyes keep spinning until they root in the back of my head 

and stay backward seeking solace

in the peaceful darkness of momentary blindness where

i can't see

An almost-past

"A mini tribe gave me an orgasm"

the sidewalk read

and, looking down, 
she nearly bumped

her head into a specter

of an almost-past that 

looked familiar,
but ached -

gliding through West 4th Street,
she sifted through the feeling
of a could-have-been-but-wasn't
and walked with heavy hands
toward the beginning-of-an-end
before circling back 
to the end 
of that beginning -

traveling through a perhaps,
she sat calmly in a union square brewery,
finding solace in a maybe 
only to discover she was 
next to that guy no one wants to be 
who cornered the bartender 
to tell her about 
the threesome he had had
with his coworkers last night,
twisting the gold ring on his left hand
again and again and again,
interrupting the pause 
to intrude on her peace -

walking through the NQR 456 L maze,
she shifted her weight into a car
lined with blue benches
and traveled to the present, 
sitting in the possibility of
the tantalizing fantasy 
of a city without memories.

Mom

The tendrils 

of my mother's voice

curl through the distance 

to cup me 

in the palms of her hands

where she lets the little pool

of tears collect

so I can see my reflection --

I gaze at a woman, 

confusedly not a child, 

joyfully becoming myself 

and my mother's daughter,

trying to soak up the 

wisdom of the ages 

and revel in the knowing

of an unrivaled, unconditional love.

My mother slowly un-cups the mirror,

leaving room to collect my joys -- 

she twirls these around her fingers,

creating bands of summer purples 

and deep Monet reds,

weaving a tapestry of painted dreams 

that connect the baby she bore

to the woman she cradles

with the soothing sounds of, 

"I love you."