Thursday, October 28, 2010


My street smells like peaches

in the middle of the night

when I’m drunk

Or perhaps that’s just what I imagine

so tired of the scents of

crowded bars and cigarettes

and stuffy cabs on

humid nights so withering

that I forget it’s autumn and not

the middle of summer

as I stumble over darkened

root-fingers that want me to stay

and sit among the leaves

and scampering anoles

and tell tall tales about the night

I was accosted by the peach trees