SMELL THE COFFEE

night's cloudy veil falls away in slow motion
the silent, gentle rocking wakes me from a dash of fitful sleep
my starchy eyes find myself alone
with the sound of filtered air
the checkered past of yesterday
miles behind us
the glorious hopes of today
not yet jaded by the reality of tomorrow.

it's now when the world decides
to catch its breath.
(man lights cigarette on dim empty platform
awaiting the 5:40 to Penn Station;
boy bicycles in BIG circles
in the middle of the wide street
testing the fragile balance in this morning's bag of newspapers)
and I wake up dizzy with dream :
your nakedness astride me on this train
my hands on the ellipsis of your familiar
ass, pumping the electricity, the fear,
the kinetic, frenetic jazz energy
of New York City into your anxious body
and the world's eyes are slits
aching with the Jesus beams of dawn's mumbled joke.
I can almost see alarm clocks shaking off their night stands
as lights go on in the upstairs windows
up and down these racing blocks
of empty streets...
...smell the coffee.

II.

people dressed for the day
smelling of shampoo and make-up;
the zip/pout snore emanating from 2 rows behind
another reveler fearlessly trying to make up for last night's excesses.
my eyes snap shut and open and shut
my neck does the Zapruder dance
my instant dreaming of your eyes
perpetuates my last waking thought:
that I should pull out my warm self
tracing a smile upon your imaginary lips with my essence
as the sun splashes the air with morning
pulling itself kicking and scratching
through the blanket of New Jersey fog
a high beam in a white-out blizzard
somewhere between Trenton and home.

- written at dawn for Charlene, new jersey on the train
July 2, 1996