20. and 21.

20.
we travel slower with constants by our side
unknown to us all rests a giant
gently breathing in anticipation
and curled so it fits into our hearts
there's nothing to fear as long as he's there
breathing, dreaming, wandering
always searching
like a patrol of summer children surveying busy streets
they make noise and watch walls come crashing down onto glass ceilings
with lungs and legs to chase after
mirages of ice cream trucks and secret hand shakes
outside this window
away from tumbling laundromats
the new york skyline offers me wings to stand on
to catch lightning bugs in the park
swallow them
and watch my belly burn bright
an incandescent glow
a hunger for longer subway rides home
and shorter walks to bodegas
this morning my feet spoke to me
as i lay there half awake
we're each armed with more than we will ever know they said to me

21.
there's something visceral and unpolluted in warm tortillas
a network of modal train stations
spray painted on the walls of each four chambers
that arrive not a minute late
a sea of tofu and bacon collide
marking white t-shirts
an empty canvas for fashion nightmares
orange tangerine soda bottles pop and lock on my table
as a pitcher of horchata leans on a broken counter top
and waits for the picadillo to catch the next flight home
egg yolks late for track meets
walk sideways over foil
past the mountains of red beans steaming in preemptive salsa volcanoes
rupturing from shifting ceramic plates and attacking plastic butter knives
under full moons of metallic grins
that are hungry for this meals evening harvest

(poems by dirty b and the pig sty posse)