Felix: There is a place that only be found in the dead of night, and even then only by those who aren’t looking. Two roads cross, then lace away into a wall of fog so thick it seems you will be unable to pass through. 

(A beat.)

Two roads cross, and that’s where.

Perrin: Where what?

Felix: This is the place where the devil will trade you the most beautiful thing in the world for a price too high to pay-- a price that we all fall to our knees and accept anyway.

And the devil is good to you. Doesn’t lay a hand on you. Moves like a snake charmer and speaks like a soothsayer. 

Perrin: What does he give to you? What does he take?

Felix: He takes your soul and tucks it into his back pocket like it’s just another grubby bandana. Makes it look easy. Hands you a violin the color of honey. Says that when you play it, everyone who hears will fall instantly and inconsolably in love with you. He says he has replaced your blood with music. Your bones with bravery. Says that everything you touch will turn to gold. Or poetry. Makes you the Midas of any metal or mystery that you desire.

Perrin: Can it be anything?

Felix: The devil knows no bounds. He has as many hands as he pleases and none of them are tied. Ask for the stars and he’ll put them in a glass bottle with a cork stopper. But he’ll take the stars from your own eyes in payment.

Perrin: I’d want to be the Midas of Poetry, just like you said. 

Felix: Go easy, Perrin. Midas is the loneliest man in the world.

Perrin: Oh? I don’t believe you.

Felix: Think about it. He pours water down his throat and chokes on yellow beads. Reaches for a lover and she turns to gold beneath his hands. Just lies there posed for an eternity with her arms stretched out to pull his body against hers. The light moves across her golden brow and the glare blurs her features and changes her expression to one of the deepest frustration. The ache of wanting to feel something warm and writhing beneath him is too much to bear. He takes his own life, but even in death he does not return to the natural world. They bury him in a golden casket, and as he rots, the whole earth turns to gold. Midas will not even have the dignity of decay. In his wake the world will be brilliant but utterly devoid of breathing things. 

Perrin: But I’m talking poetry, not gold.

Felix: I’m just saying, go easy. Be careful what you wish for, girl. Be careful what you want.

Perrin: Such an old cliché.

Felix: Yes, but everything is cliché for a reason, my dear. The old sayings are not without their worth, not without their weight in gold.

Perrin: I wouldn’t worry about me, Felix. I’ll never find that road. From now on I’ll always be looking, and you said yourself this place can only be found by chance.

Felix: Then good. I’ve done my job.

Perrin: And saved me from the horror of fulfillment.

Felix: Most people say ‘anyway it’s just a story’ at some point. Or were you going to, too? Did I cut you off?

Perrin: I wasn’t even thinking that.

Itch

There's a little boy eating undercooked tobacco fruit

and drinking water by the green

Sister's in leather

lighting nothing

smoking the air in her hand

Saying, "Shut up Raymundo, I'm thinking."

Sweat bees light jewels on our breasts,

pinch too hard like over-eager lovers.

We wipe our brows on your shirt and say,

"Hey, what time is the bus coming, anyway?"

The boy drains his glass.

Sister is picking at scabs.

Cricket Whisky

I have four hands, some days.

And no fingers with sleek nails.

I have tinfoil caps in my teeth

that scatter like lightening when I eat.

Once I was a man, covered completely in fur

 A bear, sure enough.

They called me 'werewolf', and I learned to spit 

 tobacco at their feet.

Everyone in the old country had webbed toes.

Spread them like your tattered flag

You know the one--

 from china town, just after new year

And how you collected paper lanterns, and when you ran out of cups--

                               used them for beer.

You are drinking crickets by the bottle. Nearby they're doing fish shots.

Now I have brown breasts

Cider-blurry breath

                                             And a hole

                                            cut out of my stomach 

so scientists can see the salamander there,

swimming against his own disintegrating skin.

Passista Girl

Oh lé lé, Oh la la

Float up on those tinsel heels

Dance, passista girl, why not?

They pull your string and set you free

(you go)

Your hips are smarter than you are

(they know)

Peca no gonzé, peca no gonza

You think it's just a swagger

but it's morse code

tapping into all our desperate bones.

Hey, hey-- we could catch you,

if you only had to breath.

This motion notion

slickness sickness

I could dance like you if I made a deal

with the spider woman who lives in the banana trees

and smokes cocoa beans all day.

If she wanted my bracelet,

or maybe my watch,

I could dance like you.

And if she wasn't just a thing I sometimes say.

Oh la la, Oh lé lé, Peca no gonza, Peca no gonzé.

The Top 25 Girls Names In The Year I Was Born

In class we say Harjo, Whitman

and I hope I never become a last name:

Adderley writes that

Yeah right.

Adderley don't know a damn thing.

Adderley means snakelike.

I have mixed feelings about that.

I steal myself to be a grave,

some lonesome lithograph.

Then say: no, not that.

The arrogance it takes to say!

I changed my mind.

I'll be a name on a bathroom door instead

Slander and scratch marks.

I'll be spanish Ava.

I'll be a bicycle brand.

I'll be a sun stain.

I'll be an awkward black-in fade

at the end of an awkward theater B play.

I'll be asleep by the end of it--

you'll see.

Breaking character for thirty seconds or less:

Lately I've been writing almost exclusively the two things I don't write.

Poetry and plays.

Fly By Night

Taxi-cab aftertaste (that particular stale). 

A hiccup in 

your stride. 

But dark so deep and snow so soft. 

If you close your eyes then sounds have colors. 

The beat kicks in. 

Blue-green and blistering. A snare drum mating call. 

Somewhere there's a player piano

bringing home three women with dark hair 

and bruised eyes.

If you start the long get-away run now, 

then by morning your footprints will be gone.