urban meadow blues

meadows i see on the packages in the lady business aisle of my regular supermarket

when i was young and high living the downtown life meadows were tucked twixt the words of John Fante

on crowded freeways i imagine meadows green with polka dot flowers instead of beer bottles and trash

i too have stood on meadows ignoring reality when news and accounts have been grim

on the meadows of my mind while i stand in line waiting for my time with the speed ticket money taker i swear i have been a Hopi princess

meadows in the park constructed from repurposed everything that underserves the very point of wild God created freeform and bear in mind your parking meter too

not feeling well

sleep cradles me im on the lawn black rolled towel holds my neck im tired the train screams and my eyes pop open i get the sensation of German mustard on my tongue and think of mother we called her by her name an extra insurance policy of disconnection although i never knew what she really felt then the Pantry floats about memories of standing in line on Figueroa at the mouth of downtown when downtown was a city there are signs lights most unnatural sports sports drinks sell sell sell dont think dont think dont think i saw a man in Victoria’s Secret robes worn out of poverty then im tired no more then im angry again defeated and dissected from my nature patches of this and that round off the frustrations of seeing this world pass by falling into abyss and in all my time i have done nothing

that ruthless city

if a trail could be found to his beating heart it would be through his ears

the sounds of giant groaning flares flying moons shooting stars music of the cosmos

my voice is not a song it merely croaks and moans steeped in manly brick and mortar

inside the blinding glare of chiming heavenly beings are lively rays displaying all

down to his change cup inside the saxophone case on the shadow washed asphalt somewhere in that ruthless city

when women pray

it happens any time

in any place

around the universe

and even under ground

where they bury us

or in jars

where our chemical composition

lays just there in a powder

when women pray

they are really talking

across wet streets

between cars

right on the division line

of light and dark

they really get into it

a rhythm only she angels can hear

the he angels

they’re pictures on Valentines

sent to Hank Bukowski

when women pray

they think of everything

dirty diapers pregnancy tests

pubic hair the national crime rates

they think of their breasts

the bruises by their mate

the love of a mother

the words not really carefully thought through

but the universe gets the gist

cars come and go

rush hour in the heart

fear and joy at being alive

when women pray

music dances off their tongues

penetrating embankments

concrete or otherwise

the lilts and little valleys

in their vocal chords

algorithms to the stars

when i pray

i pray for a strength like theirs

dislocated ribs

there are bright yellow red hearted blossoms waving at the cars
trees screaming with a hundred demanding little birds cleansers of the earth after the war
telephone wires obselete and dead
wireless carriers facilitate what’s next
skies gloomy skin tanning albeit
here in my new home away
from the sores of tough living
my body moves more
still the pain gets stronger
wars can still reach me
the curse of gab from shallow tongues
remind me that i’m not enough
and that my fat rolls and brittle hair
are cause for alarm
not that our Mother is burning
i too am fragile to not cry
too salty
to not have the strength to soldier on
i’ve made an executive decision
today i’ll have no viewpoint
instead i will experiment with hummingbird nectar
and hope that they will come and partake
their wings without rest
their bodies steady in the air
thoughts scurry in my head
and the heart
hasn’t found her resting place
still lingers there
between dislocated ribs
for all times sake

why have we forsaken we

when in living off the twilight

inside the erosion of my mind

sometimes i snap sharply from my American

airconditioned nightmare

the balance of me

realizing my internet speed

was a negative impact

on some email or another

the twilight lit up

soon enough when heavy fueled Fedex trucks

delivered my pampered cats’ designer litter

the pipeline took by cyber rooks

named after a Stan Lee caricature

tired from tapping orders and griping

of how the strain in my eyes

wont let me binge watch

zombies and madonnas later tonight

when living in the hologram of prescriptive mindfulness

a new normal cast upon my head

no longer should i be disturbed

and once the tiny caffeine shots

have done their job

all major asshole media cocks

begrudgingly agree

that the Arabs are bombing the Jews again

slapping of wrists from the lips in the oval coffin

my spirit starts to sit upon my couch

the people of my mother

the people of my neighbors

the people who bother no one

in their daily toil to survive

to see their little ones grow

my attention pulled out

looking out the front door

quasi worried about the power grid

the electrical giggles sprouting

from kindergarten kiddos

sadden my heart

why have we forsaken we

two feathers

before this moment
i didnt want to kiss your lips
stroke your cheek or bury my pain in your hair
before the moon put on her gown to hide the scars paparazzied by the sun
i didn’t want to hide in that deep well of your warm strong arms for fear of being sold down that cold toxic emotional river
before you before tomorrow before my death two feathers from your wings fell into my poisoned dream turning them into golden keys opening a paradise