Last night I dreamt
my indoor shadow
fucked Mary’s outdoor shadow
so out popped
a shadow baby who unlocked
my front door to suckle
under the local lemon tree. How wonderful
to pluck a yellow world and squeeze
its juice into my descendent’s shadow eyes:
he needed to feel shadow pain
grind down his brain.
After mom screamed pellets
to the police, I ran my shadow joy
through a Golden Gate cloud
where the juice burned holes
into the bridge’s red metal, red
like a balloon casting
an urban shadow on Telegraph Hill
when I wake up and assault
my heart up that incline.
After a trolley car
steamrolls over my shadow
at the summit, I drag my bare self
to meet Mary at the sperm bank.
Am I broke? Mary smiles.
She knows my worth.
WILDsound Festival 