Biloxi

it’s cold outside.

In your garage Prince is pouring out

1999

on the TV you’ve had since you were a child.

When I’m in Biloxi

we chase bottle glass,

neon dollars, and recycled air.

We wager against the house with no windows,

where a day without sunlight=

can feel just like night.

We drown in a sea of luck

where everyone loves to drown.

But you feel your dreams die

as your stomach growls.

You are a student of signs,

you read the machine like a palm

up to the universe,

you study dreams.

I can’t remember my dreams

enough,

to wish to never dream.

But I can remember you:

You are the green ivy in the morning

on Eagle Pine Island where there is only one road.

You are the saddest music juking on stein glass legs.

You are the summer on Reginald Street

where we bake in pools and float wine stems

filled with Beaujolais noveau and smoke Parliaments.

You are my Super Mario Galaxy

where all the stars are upside-down

and at my feet.

Every house you live in becomes my home.

Now I am a nomad

and nowhere feels like home.

Can I go where you go?

Let me be your canary.