my brother tells me tall tales
to make me grow faster sharper but
only my eyes grow wider
like the buildings here reach higher 

tales about how these men chased their flesh
harder deeper inside themselves
pushed fantasy into shapes that bled
made shadows out of shadows in which they hid

beneath ground they’d make love disappear
into the dark wettening along tiles
make fantasies come alive from exile

but now he says it’s shut down
closed off the beat gone from the sound
a mausoleum in this part of town
you can hear the ghosts still moan for the flesh though

if you listen at the gates when the moon is full      my
     brother tells me so 

View this poem on The Disappearing »