the mud passage blocks time sludge in the machine forces the bolts from my spleen dead Russian turnips in the pot momma hollers from the top flop house seamstress to the stars of liquid sanctum dew drops fall and we are everything that never was
the mattress sags
bones lay silent
skin burnt dry
head in doubt
heart up ass
ringless fingers cross
non sequitur prayers
Leonard Cohen verse
cry for help
no tenderness brought
broken twice again
number seven gained
habit births vice
child repent now
kisses down throat
poisons swallowed slow
silence stares from the insides
of the old pile of sticks
on some mornings there’s the smell
of Cuban coffee and always
the stench of dying kidneys
on the streets
we shiver and sweat together
only appropriate credentials
get to play the martyrs
Desi yells at Lucy
at the exact moment the gates of hell
have broken loose
we all just hapless renegades
begging for a push
and even though it’s hard to walk
within our modern tomb
we postpone the end of life
one alveoli at a time
just a little peace
is all i want on this day
to rest quietly
today was a bitter day
i contemplate giving up
the people i love
have violated my trust
stomped my heart
spat in my courage
to all i said fuck you
in a moment of haste
i walked out to the street
not believing what they did
i suppose we are just human
Liberty i work with your poor
your huddled masses yearning
for something
my compassion and loyalty
dragged through the hell of your mouth
beat by the hate in your heart
and God
i feel alone
afraid
thy rod and staff
comfort no one
today was a bitter
confusing day
its become so very easy
to look the other way
but in the end
i couldn’t walk away
so God help me
as i walk into the fire again
i have not felt well for years it seems i started to see the ghosts in the trees and broken lemons on the ground at midnight the welts in psyche begin to throb and i get up to walk in our great metropolitan cemetary for the crematorium cleaners don’t show up till noon my eyes cast a glance unto the sea only to witness the horsemen looking for the premature broken seals littered there by pissed off angels with head bowed James Dean style i wonder if Eve is in heaven i see helicopters pointing spotlights on the damned while with each new grave stone painted on these walls my scars form roots and i wander less each time i see the carnage
born
under
the
sun
clean
warm
life
affirming
she
shows
her
face
unto
her
father
who
greets
her
star
with
nightingale
song
in dream i walk PicoUnion
Lydia Lunch hair do
fringe beneath my eyes
the hotdog vendor burns
her inventory
hands in jean jacket pockets
a gold Volvo stops an inch from me
i wear tap shoes to hear a click
because the LAFD sirens sicken me
in the sky there is a subtle sun
negotiating with the trees
one particular tree caught my eye
as he bent in an uproar
almost majestic in size
he blocked me from Hyperion’s
cancerous sighs
chewing Bazooka Joe’s
careful of my side eyeing
in case the fentanyl groupies
demand my food bank box
the city tired as she is
steady her sidewalks remain
in spite of the oppression
‘and the wind began to howl’
protested from a Tennessee plate
Robert England cabin
suddenly the driver and i lock eyes
as lady Vyvanse begins to ebb inside
my pupils begin to show
but my dream turns out
is a hell bound reality
the magnolia trees
with hearty roots
ripping through sidewalks
i walk with empty hand
your face grey eyes fedora
button down vintage shirt
Dickie pants a reall bad ass
appears to me like a mirage
me a sick old girl
grown leathery tough
round my ages
im astonished how easy
its become to not give a fuck
when the Los Feliz sun my face kisses
then a mouthy bird with riot chirps
suck me back among those trees
those quiet late dark nights
when in your car
id give you head
pleading in my heart
youd love me back
yet as years
travel on my breaking soul
your face that i use to adore
is just as stoic as ever
rocket pops blue tongues
raspberry lemon salute
sweetness in my soul
bitter beer hotdog
smoke woodsy lingers in my
ponytail swooshing
the hogs growl as the
jean and leather veterans’
eyes well up with Taps
the leathery feel
of my uncle’s tired hands
while i trace his scars
a little young girl
did see the poignant pain
his tribulations
forever brothers
gone away heroes to the
Elysium Fields
woman now i am
involuntold unto wars
of chemical kind
inventory i
do take cloaked in the doctrine
of recycled pain
standing wind i hear
not the cheer of victory
the dragon is nigh
troopers in the rain
wet uniforms drenched in tears
blood flows in bad will
poignant still are the
wounds only men understood
i still stand by you
fallen do not land
social napalm comes again
eyes stay vigilant
words less spoken 