second hand unicorns

for Todd Moore

here sirens chime like church bells in a tombstone factory
and i think of you
how you will never
get to shoot at dragons
with a tommy gun on the streets of laredo

how lorca came back
as a firefly his wings dipped in blood

how there is never enough time for anything

how we seem to
live our lives in dog years

when it is my time
i want to be reborn
as a second hand unicorn

i want to be
a citizen of oz again
clicking my heels
together in a arizona dust storm

i want to be
a fly on all
of the walls in heaven

a tumbleweed on the
very last breath of the dead

i want to come back
on the lips of dreamers
on the mouths of young lovers

i want to believe
that all being an outlaw
really means is having
the ability to love

i want to wake up dreaming
a tune i can't remember the words to
your last poem tucked inside
my heart like a bullet

like a secret
that will only
come out in song

no help wanted

i want to write
a confession along the
coastlines of your
lips tapping my fingers
against the wind every
morning jesse james becomes
a dove inside my skin

no help wanted i
hold in a tired
breath you write a
sonnet become a love
poem every day you
tell me just breathe
signs are everywhere smiling
wide war can turn
grown men into beauty
queens there are flowers
only death can smell
here we plant seeds
of love in red earth
the poet's blood painted
on rocks printer's ink
is a pleasant memory

i wear jack gilbert's
tired gloves my heart
covers the sun it
is a puzzle i
can feel you gently
warming up to

the way things were in 1981

for adam walsh

in 1981 i had
a pete's dragon sleeping bag
that resembled the alamo
back then i threw
kisses at the wind
as a form of
prayer sometimes i wish
could go back there
with a flashlight 5yrs old
i'd take a bus
to hollywood florida
adam walsh and i
would go rollerskating through the
aisles of heaven and i would
ask him "what do
you want to be
when you grow up?"
whatever he chose i'd
be proud of him
and i would remind
him not to talk
to strangers i would
say that i was
from the future and
that when i looked into
his eyes all i
could see was a
ghost clutching a rosary

back then i remember
thinking that the local
newscaster was the president
he always looked so
serious that was the
year my mother took
me to the movies for the
first time and my
dad bought me a
comic book in niagra falls
on a family vacation
i didn't tell them
that you were reason
that i feared going
into department stores and that
i once saw an
angel on the side
of a wal-mart ringing
a salvation army bell
that looked a lot
like you and that i
was always afraid that
they'd steal the stars
out of the sky
with a butterfly net
because i always
wanted to name one
after you it always
felt like we were
brothers only you were
an invisible celebrity and
i was a nameless boy
i bet your mother
still cries some nights
howling in the wind
where i left those
boyhood kisses i hope
they comfort you now

1n 1981 i believed
seeing was believing
but now the most
powerful things in the
world seem to be invisible
and now as i
listen by my window
garbage trucks rumble like
the shadows of invisible gods
their music offering blessings
to the quick and the dead

the village people of las vegas, NM

we notice bed rolls
off the highway as
the road turns to gravel and dirt
locals refer to this as "the village"

a squatter cleans a rusty blade
by the light of the moon
wearing a deer skull
fashioned like a paper party hat

i look down
at the sky and think
insomnia is a lonely
form of time travel

restless i tattoo tiny tornadoes
on the stomach
of prairie dogs

John Dorsey currently resides in Toledo, Ohio. He is the author of several collections of poetry, including Teaching the Dead to Sing: The Outlaw's Prayer (Rose of Sharon Press, 2006), and Sodomy is a City in New Jersey (American Mettle Books, 2010). He work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Photo of John Dorsey with Todd Moore, photo by S.A. Griffin