I remember the round light of my
flashlight
hitting the graffiti wall at calwa park
I
remember the clangs and clinks
of the chain link fence as we stuck in our toes
and jumped over.
the yellow lights from the beer warehouse across
the street. the empty immobile swings. I
remember
the metal bones of a rocket ship sticking up
out of the ground like a stoic weed.
the naked tree branches and their lonely
fingers.
your feet sinking into mud next to mine.
the way you tucked your hands
into the pockets of your black peacoat.
your mustache against my top lip.
each piece of graffiti hitting the eye like
a ghost on acid or a bite of aluminum or
a rainbow twisted out of dali’s alphabet.
I remember your cold fingertips
brushing a strand of hair from my forehead
like brushing dust from a painting.
I remember holding my cold fingertips
to spray-painted smoke
on a brick wall.
the crunch of candy wrappers under our sneakers.
the metal skeleton of a breached submarine.
I remember five raindrops soaking into my hair.
the shock in my ankles as we tumbled
back over the fence. I remember the streets
washed
in new colors as I sat in your car on the way
back
home. the white door of my apartment
pulsating against its frame. |