Parked on a Quiet Cul-de-sac

Once again, we scatter 2am
into ashes by the curb,

light years away from
the giggles

on Sunset Boulevard.
It’s like I’m home again,

wearing superstitions
around the moon.

I could never leave
their lies behind.

I want the mountains
and the rivers

of their elegies, and
the joy of roosters

crowing in my prayers.
I let them preen

my hopes into a bay
of dreams.

I keep them close like maps,
to guide me

through a city trapped
in billboard signs.

*

The hour is slipping
in the deserts

of your voice. I want
to meet your

phantoms once again,
and how they rap

my name with hints
of myth.

They’re buffed with
adjectives we shadow

in the way we talk.
They’re famished

for a bit of sky without
the usual words.

Let me show them
curves inside

my silhouette.
Let me show you how

I name the brightness
of my stars.

Michael Caylo-Baradi is an alumnus of The Writers’ Institute at the Graduate Center (CUNY). His work has appeared or is forthcoming at The Adirondack Review, Across The Margin, Hobart, JMWW, Kenyon Review Online, The Common (Dispatch), Eunoia Review, New Pages, Ink Sweat & Tears, The Galway Review, and elsewhere. His first poetry chapbook Hotel Pacoima will be released later this year by Kelsay Books.