violet sky soft feather wind
on shore at the foot of the valley
cactus tufts where birds will nest
upon the arrival of the spring
i like the granules of sand
monochromatic browns and blacks
the tiny pebbles silent lay
in them frozen codes of time
and how i got to be here
in a universe so universal
bowing my head
mantra in brain
sacred sounds surround the plains
my thoughts interrupted
as a dusty Slurpee cup blows by
life you have this annoying way of walking by as i’m trying to see a point of view prescribed by a cold and sterile man
take today for instance i’m just whistling by on my way to the corners pungent with wet filth and frothy with human madness
every prophet will eventually go back to her house yet i am neither saint nor prophet but just a sinner looking for faith
here in front of me stands the place where we yes you my soul conscience and mind dwindled childhood away waiting for the unknown without fear bloated with arrogance
get lost
Love
away with you
i’ve packed your bags
your cab is called
get the fuck out of my way
let me place
my bourbon on this table
and no i don’t use your coasters
i’m done with you
i refuse to wait
no more a fool
my time is out
for years and years
and seven fold
i crawled on knees
i soiled my soul
for you to hold me
i yearned for you
i cried for you
i died for you
so many many times
and in the darkest times
when i thought you cared
you tricked me
with a warm hand
a kind lie
or a fake kiss
i ran away
and groveled
and that one time
a torrid past
with three or four
i shared your bed
thinking i was special
but now i’m grown
and have found
a better lover
he’s cold and dull
and never calls
but never yells
or hits or tells
me how imperfect i am
i adore him
the only loyal one
Solitude
sand sifts time valleys blue sound boom traveled since a day before creation the key to who i am at the heat level gamma ray infra black sultana of defiance pigs are rarely ever pink but they always seems to think and they do fly in their communal memory did me know that opposites detract on the sidewalk chalk does not point to the killers as they always wrote in plumes
there her spirit rests
rays of silver reaching out
her face gleams in peace
hey it rains
at 2 a.m.
and for some
reason i think
about you love
what are you
you are what
i feel you
to be in that dark corner
hiding behind dust bunnies
from when he last opened the door
and left me
night drive slow speed
body tired windows bleed
city light a million times
soul sucker dynamite
blare the sin out from below
steel cold brick you sunk me
my fingers crooked now
with the countdown of this town
but don’t underestimate
the heart mine least of all
look me in the silence of that eye
i dare you to deny
that after you’ve torn
us both down
spit on our ancient right
that a tree of force will not emerge
from where my human blood’s been shed
from where my love everlasting powerful
and pure will for all of time
triumph over you
and our perversions
breath
silent
sweet whisper
cooed inside dreams
honey veins the sting
it comes on spurts of hot
metal polish in the blood
wolfram exploding in the night
thinly necked liquid sand holy grail
near blue Nirvana send me off to sleep
when i was a teen girl
i had a teen boy lover
he was broken like James Dean
and like Brando a real bad ass mutherfucker
he kissed with a platinum tongue
as we walked along the Venice sand
he’d get into fights
all bloody and bruised
but we still caught the moonlight
sucking on the booze
we’d fuck until we couldn’t walk
not because of sex or anything
but because of all the glue we huffed
those were wild times
in the eyes of other people
to a punk skater kid
of broken inner spirit
the life style was his fort
me i was just a wanna be
looking for a Trojan Horse
to leave this solar system far behind
by sixteen i’d been dead so many times
and had gotten taken advantage of by force
all because of it
Blaine with the dirty blonde mohawk
my only refuge that boy was
we swore our love
with Sharpie marker anarchy tattoos
and shared pizza crusts
from the dumpsters down on Zephyr
at night we’d find some Gypsy camp
and howl unto the face of angels
howling at the moon just seemed so trite
but when we’d look in each other’s eyes
there were no stars in them
like with the Montagues’ and Capulets’
just an existential escape past our sullied souls
knowing that we had no plan
just living for the day
no flowers in my hair
no money for the Goddamned fare
from desperation blvd. to hole ave.
just me and Blaine alone together
simultaneous fear and madness punching in the air
we lived like Cohen and the Beats
the Velvets and Andy and Billy Name
we talked about fascism and Ollie and the gang
La Revolucion y El Che
we talked about other times
his aunt Myrtle’s minced meat pie
Constantinople and even Hemingway
he read about the Bolsheviks
while i adored Bukowski
he slept in the LA Central Library
on my bony dirty lap
one of the most beautiful
and sacred memories of my life
was my chipped fingernail polish
fingers picking out two tiny
purple flower petals
from his gentle baby hair crown
his fedora was camel tan felt with a gray ribbon around the crown he missed a tooth or two skin dolphin blue ashy like the flick of a Cuban cigar he belonged at that piano bar he had always been there an entity but every end of a lifetime he’d take on another body and the fedora man would return to the same old black stool sagging with confessions of past souls bemoaning life and living being a junkie i was on the look out to see if he could be trusted the old man spoke English but our real conversation was on another level we understood each other with our eyes we were all intuition instinct pulse gut feeling we were cons used to the streets i wasn’t stable material i thunk too much he wasn’t to be trusted he assumed too little one day we both happened to be there i told the owner who wore fake diamonds and bee stung eyes i’m just a grad student from Harvard can i stay and scope things out what do you study she asked hoping i might be a doctor her jowls exploded with pride that someone with class and money could be among her crowd yes psychologist i lied i lied oh how i lied old fedora was there wearing a black as night striped suit with shiny shoes the kind they wore in Paris long ago as they ran to catch the frantic trains heading for Lisbon when my mother was a little girl i must have had a wild imagination too many old Hollywood flicks i suppose he was just a dirty old man and i a junkie student just wanting waiting
