Poems and DREAM fragments

Louie Rinaldi

Madonna FaceTimed me. I tell Steven to be quiet. I can’t really hear what she’s saying, she keeps breaking up but she’s fucked up and excited to see me. It’s Christmas? She talks about cheating on her boyfriend. (She’s kind of proud of it.) In the end her cook comes in and says “Are you still on that screen?” and tells her she’s about to make chicken soup. Madonna has to go. I get it, soup is a priority.

I slammed my head and, though I can’t remember how, I know that I have head trauma. I sleep all day in a sunlit hospital bed, much like a plant photosynthesizing. I wake up, feeling truly rested, to Arnie (the lady who sells baked goods at the Farmer’s Market) as my nurse. 

She says “you did some good healing today.” 

And though I feel dizzy, I believe her; I am healing, and that’s enough.

8 margaritas later 
concrete makes sense as a floor 

This was all once land 
green Earth 
I wonder if this tar pond is the patch of Brooklyn the
customer-with-dog said his
family once owned 

Cracks patched 
trail across the open flat top
as the mind rattles 
“my hands are cold” 
“I’d like my gloves” 
“the birds...”
I can’t remember birds 
since the ones that swelled 
on a single tree
in my backyard (the tallest and most baron 
like a fork in the sky) 
Til angry machine screams and roars tore it down 
& called for an early migration 

it was my first day on this earth grieving
a season like never before 

Are there always all-of-a-sudden
birds 
& then not 

& here again 
but on the eve of March 
over a concrete ocean 
by a dipping sun 
and shifting wind 

They call and call 
awaiting nothing in return 
except the rise and fall 
of their own breath 
Calling themselves 
Calling each other 
out into the sun 

A car passes. 

they listen for a moment 

have they gone? 

“No.” 

They chime back in: 

“It was only a car 
and we 
are only birds.” 

I’m at RuPaul’s house, in the countryside. Which country? Not sure, but I know there’s a mountain view. It was the kind of view that hid the road the house was on, so it looked ever expansive to see rolling green and blue mountains with white caps. It looked like Switzerland or Italy; I say “It reminds me of Europe” and Ru is not impressed. 

He leads me inside and we go down to the basement, where his friend is playing video games. It has a 70s feel; wood paneling and carpet. RuPaul plops down on an air mattress (in a very Sleepover fashion) in his full red snakeskin suit and boots, and I think: Wow, this is really him. And he’s wearing shoes in bed.

I step a little too close 
to a stranger in passing 
just enough to absorb 
his scent 
for a moment 
I am not alone 

I stop and stare 
dick 
all I'm looking for is dick 
eyes 
and jawline 

a smile 
after I pan up 
from looking at 
your dick 

Even though I know it's a distraction
from turning in 
can't help my insides from smirking
into a half grin 
Don't wanna be your lover
Don't wanna be ignored 
but can't help thinking of dick 
every time I get bored