everything is ending except the world

all of the detours,
and the airplanes,
and the searching,
and the dancing,
getting lost in Chicago
when street names turn to sketchy numbers,
dark rain,
and the drunk running,
the jammed umbrellas,
the twirling in caves,
spinning and spinning
in a drunk man's arms
in Spain,
where they search for American girls,
to devour and escort
out to tired
streets at dawn,
the spinning and spinning,
the flying over seas,
the speeding ferry,
the nauseousness,
the bus tipping over the mountainside,
and now I sink into him
as in a bubble bath,
the past buzzing
like a concert I just left,
and I'm in warm water,
the sound of loud speakers
still resonating
in my ears

November

I prayed for a sign,
                                 -and behold-
there it is
not,
the neon red cardinal emerging
from the dead, barren view
of earth,
the decrepit backyard fence,
the unpleasant sound of
dry wind
scraping the weeds,

and the neon red bird
not there.

And behold,
the absence of the sign
more shocking than its presence,
teaching me that God is not a hotline.

your head is so beautiful floating above mine, with a silver shadow of blinds on the ceiling above