Surface

I dive headfirst into the world
without worrying if I will
crack my head against the cement.

let red ribbons leak out,
climb towards the surface.

there are tiny cities in my chest, 

with rosy girls dimming 

their bedroom lights

one by one, 

arms outstretched 

from slender windows,

fingers frigid and white,

reaching out to find the core,

the point of emanation.

in waking dreams,
men in harnesses cling to shingles,
work to demolish a cupola

exposing the ribs of a great bell,
the hull of a boat that scratches the sky.

are there ghosts 

in our future?

are there stones glistening

in our heart-streams?