She sat in fading sunlight

Trying to exhale her fading past

     Against a brick wall

 Her soul sank her through the ground –

 Too filled with Brazilian coffee and kisses

 (she wondered how past and future could

         be one

   and how nothing ever died)

A yellow heart read “ANGER”

        (I wonder what yellow means)

  It’s what I am to you –

 Black to yellow

        Maybe heartbreak con se sunrise,

    she thought.

       NOW in a sterile, fluorescent-lit room

       She freezes

            And is bold

         Photography is not reality –

                             It’s 2-dimensional, paper

       Is this really real?

    This bullshit room so quiet it buzzes –

                 soul less

                              empty

 (It’s drinking her blood, she is convinced)

She must jump out of the plexi-glass

                 windows

   on to the sparkly sidewalk of S.F.

 We sat on the ISF

              protected by air

    watching jungle envelop city,

          (or city envelop jungle),

   looked up to stone arms open,

      the first time I saw him unarmed.

   We never knew how much the ride costed,

  how much you pay to buy back your

                       own soul.

        Really, it doesn’t matter.

The

      Truth

               Is

                   Simple.

 That’s truth, that’s simple.

              This place is true.

Tequila disinfects, kills

               All of the bullshit

    that humburgers and earl grey tea feed

 

       ‘Tis this

              this ‘tis

        Simply true

                     True, simply.

  Apples bitten, wrapped in European lined paper

          Ripped from the page of homosexuality

     The core hidden

           Much like

                   Your truth.

 

The truth – tis deep and secret

  But I see (tee-hee).

So take me back

 To Brazil, where

      Secrets hide on open lips.

   Swim through Amazonian shade,

             Rise with the stream of Columbian coffee

   And become us –

          (This is how secrets become truth,

    Simple

              Really)

 

     Really

     Truly

     Simple.

     Running fingers over silky sheets

     Sweat dripping empty pint and

     Truth.

 (I found truth in that Irish pint)…

and thought, maybe I should

                          find this

                          more often