like a tree in the dead of city
tough skin is what i need
to think about myself
as standing tall and without bend
tickling the sky with my leaves
tough skin is what i speak
through the chirps of tawny birds
and the billions of bugs’ marching feet
along the branches of my trunk
the clouds layered gray
throughout this day
watching coupled hands clasped in love
tender are their eyes
looking forward to a future
who won’t surrender to their whims
the old ones long ago bereft of their lover
look the other way
there are new cracks on the pavement caused by time strain and cheap materials there are old expressions on faces caused by time strain and indifference there are old buildings with new structural injuries caused by burning crack pipes violence and human defecation there are new leaders with bad intentions fueled by greed narcissism and ignorance
thorns so sharp
and beautiful like your love
unattainable to the touch
dry and dead like promises made
in a far off night
that was made in a bottle
storm you are so black
i am so empty
storm you are powerful
i curled up quiet
storm if i could touch your electricity
and send my atoms to rest
8 moons and 3 Sputniks
i see tonight while standing
outside deep breathing
the news shows
bleeding from my neighbor’s window
tomorrow i will rise
get caffeinated
and get on the road
to imagine what it’d be like
if i could fly in outer space
only with age can i see myself in those children running and laughing in the womb of the summer night
they
only about a pound heavier than the great water lily pads laying quietly upon the whispers of the koi fish rising to the surface of the pond blowing kisses to the moon
just another day
there are things
that are meant
to he secret
there are codes
that are followed
and no one
knows the meaning
or how the
human drama will
be played out
perhaps there will
be murder or
the sale of
drugs there will
be money to
be made no
matter what the
cost of it
let us praise sweet baby Jesus
for this liver of mine
these combat boots circa 1989
the fuck you nose in the air Lost Angelina flair
thank my lucky stars for me growing up between the nickel and old school Hollywood
i like a mold among the sparkly tinsel glow of all of those who have come and gone
but i am still here, ha!
and to the goodness let us thank you too for gifting me the shadows of Bukowski’s foot steps his words and his bungalows over on the east side
thank you universe for allowing me the courage or something to taunt my teachers with the scratching of my internal she balls
and my mohawk and knee scabs after countless drunken skateboard falls while attempting to take a calculus test
thank you God for the life You have let me have and the free will to let me feel the punching caresses of the days gone by
to
the top
we walk fast
ancient keepers of this
land where no one knew
the truth
of what
would
befall
us
words less spoken 