Wet Dream


Have you ever had a wet dream?.

You wonder, how does it fall?
How does it flow?

Is it a river that meanders, or is it
An ocean that undulates,
Or perhaps a tsunami that billows?

Perhaps it is found in the river’s
Riparian zone, where bamboo thickets grow
Or perhaps it is a watershed,
Or maybe a billabong?

What process explains it you wonder
– can it be percolation,
Seepage, irrigation or leeching?

And you look in bewilderment, at that woman
Who you always see at the supermarket
And who looks at you sheepishly, perhaps
She flows through like the surfing tide
Or a rush of white water.

But still……

You look back at the dream
You realize, you are a dam builder
Who built a dam in the path of a sultry woman.
And still somehow, deep into the night,
She finds a way to you

You’re covered in dew and the wet dream
I suppose doesn’t end there.
It finds a way from your skull
To where it all drains out.
And your pajamas are wet.

And still you haven’t figure out
How a wet dream takes her course….

And you let it all be, like the sap of maple,
Or the permafrost beneath the earth,
Or a fine wine inside cork
Or a succulent cactus plant

And so I conclude; a wet dream is just
A pipeline from an aquifer,

And a pipe-dream at most.




The infection I cannot forego
The foreigner that came
To be a patriot. The La Fayette in me
Who looks every inch as conflicted
As a melee, and as disapproved, as a glass of moonshine,
And still I run the marathon of life
Like there are eagle wings at the end and that blind man
Who worships with his heart,
A woman who can bake just about anything,
Can only be a fool in faith, of that strange corridor
That stares at you from afar and narrows from the sides.
And how beautiful is claustrophilia,
Of knowing that the heart has
An ocular disease and all that you are,
Is just a presence to another, of that ill-defined feeling
Of liking a space that drifts nearer and nearer
Until you are perfectly incapacitated
Of uttering just about anything.
And in that dumbing tradition,
We prosper to what, touch reconciles
And taste defines.


America 2

A noteworthy event
Where a green card becomes
A greener pasture, of what it takes
For a man, who crossed the Rio Grande
And sneaked through a fence,
To know, he now has a tap root,
That when uprooted
Looks a lot like a carrot stick,
Stuck in an amber moment,
Caught between the old and the new, near and far.
The green light can do so much
But heal the plague of where,
The heart always seems to orbit,
Your first love.Your first home.

A Gay Man’s Admission


The serenade on the dance floor
In a gay night club, took me in
To your spell. I didn’t know warlocks
Could be so appetizing, to my famished heart
As I lunged towards you, from juxtaposition
To an interface, not knowing how sweetening
The candy is. We are but two jack rabbits
In a burrow, making recreation,
A drill of habit, knowing no seed vigor,
Can spoil, with a balloon in the belly.
Still we are not an alliance of asymmetry
We are only mercenaries under Lady Liberty
With a torch in our hearts, and a tablet
That inscribes our dreams of togetherness.
How nagging is love, like a recurring
Ache, storming our sensitive centers,
Vulnerable to morphing, from thin
To thick, from solitary to singularity,
From a flame to a wildfire.
And we are but children, in the infancy
Of heart tendencies, when love
Is just a bud, that will one day be pollinated.
Still, aren’t we in a kangaroo
Court where prejudice defines love
As asymmetrical, when all it is, is just
A plague of blindness, of feeling your way
From the attic to the dungeon
From dermis to endocarditis.
A heart infection that colludes
Two beings, hungry for the surreal
Of knowing that paper beings
Are flesh engines, that drive home love
And that parchment, is what tells us
We are not capsized, nor are we exiled,
We are only creatures of will
Seeking a rightful destination. We are only
Toy boys in admission, who on paper
Will turn to titans, who will cede,
To what the eyes monopolize, bodies pulverize,
And hearts stockpile,