Surrogate Language

Wanting to be wistful, plus utopia, plus you told him what a pimp was, the dancers who fall so they may rise, (and a movement is discovered), he writhed somewhere in a cave of the heart and re-emerged with a length of red yarn--saved (what does that mean), wanting to be wistful, plus utopia, so far

and bold and deathly white, the day will not save them and we rule the night

Plus you told him what a pimp was, plus utopia
such that he bowed, what is black power, out-and-out silence, such that he listened louder

I dreamed of Minton's Playhouse with a rooster on the chimney and then suddenly we were back in Iowa, the 80s, raisin eyes on the snowman, (hide the sunman) tucking a scarf around a cylinder, then back at Minton's, until I woke up laughing with jazz in my tears and the basket of frozen grapes by the bed had melted permanently. Nothing is quite as timebound as waking up in the middle of a good dream to an even better one.
It only happens
to pimps and poets
so the whole world is at risk

Not wanting to be wistful
Not being wistful
Any/more
The symmetrical flesh of winter fruit
Is just as lush as you remembered
sipping amber cider
It's safe to disappear
simultaneously,
together
so safe there's no need for it
or utopia
the cry of myth has deafened the cognitive aspects of the city,
to speak we have to move
like citizens of one another,
like if dreams don't have climates, admit they're too comfortable
Sideways in the subconscious, honesty looks as obnoxious as lies, admit that too
Don't be so boring, keep producing ideas, destroying ideas, simultaneously,
together

Plus you told him what a pimp was, plus you loved him anyway, the grapes melted into a shaken purple, less royal than earlier, prettier, pettier, not as beautiful, hide them in the snow, plus utopia, plus the socialite doesn't comprehend the difference between outrunning his imagination and he was what a pimp was, when you loved him anyway