spider’s web on the corner
the dust and sunlight dance
a waltz
cracks in my bones books on my shelves chipped polish on my nails
the spider has gone to another land and i wonder if she was a pilgrim looking for God as well
not in the mood for anything to eat i sit and watch my cat sneak around the tables
silence in my heart and in the windows purple orange skies
no particular need for any promise i’m quite grown up
and think beyond those silly things
but every now and then the feeling flutters like a moth outside his lantern how did time
escape from me
ah yes a broken glass
in the midst of my heart
Poetry
LA, into this state
raggaeton and Coronavirus-19 blues
seriously woke adverts from podcast sleuths
the AG and the Russia hoax
MSNBC squealin’
through the crumbling ozone
exclusive: thee gospel truth
time doesn’t really matter?
eight hundred and seventy-six days gulped Manafort
Prius glide bike lanes wide
out-brake light-mine i’m from LA
bus lights
frozen on Mulholland Drive
Ferrari high beams with movie directors’ wives
Tupac karaoking in the car
dope beats Dre interjectin’ more more more
memories of seven fo
and the deep state goody two shoes ruse begins
110 N 110 South 360 degrees
the president in forced space
behind JFK’s refurbished desk
listening to no one but Fox and Friends
vice president boxing the Fauci and Birx bunch
“Let us love as Jesus has {LOVED?}us.”
the archbishop says
yo yo yo!?! does that mean we’re all dead…
gentrification gentrification
where’s that old voucher to my section-8
extension the PJ’s are not communes like Marx’s mandate
meth toad croaks in the trailer park door instead
sweaty poisons seeping into
the young collective American soul
finest tit slash bleach job i ever did see
skyscraper floor path paved with our correctly approved recepticled trash
while our slogan puffed chests
at the pride we have at the graves we have filled
behind dumpsters of the riche through their guerilla
drills
as we parade around the good done deeds
the mayor walks those very grounds were 30 years ago
the epidemic shunned back then
but walked for now
took most of my loves forever due to their failure to conform
now today in my home town America-LA country broken down to her
DNA
yes Cabal we are openly and freely international with an
admiration for cowboys rudeboys and all the girls in the
world
coexisting vegan meat eater howlers in the night
blues and reds never got us right
media giants you’re wrong as fuck about us
we the people of the Westside coast
Chuck wearers Mariachi trumpets duo with Miles
kung fu swinging farmers markets our neighborhoods by far were never anything ‘Little’
Hogs ride wild all the Angels of this Nation
want to say:
America have a very happy birthday
to the sweatshop workers who get paid a dime
and to the Chili Peppers the music makers of this bad ass LA house
let us not forget the discarded freedom fighters who stand in the soup lines
all the kids made from God’s rainbow flag of color
and the school babies hanging out at Food 4 Less selling candy bars for a dollar
to Kim Soo at my favorite barbecue
and of course Hadib where i used to buy my tokes
and Dona Adelita at the corner with her folks
LaTifah and Darryl who teach me about the Sheppard JC
AJ from the Lakota Nation a Captain America
comic book fiend
and all of my liberal left hook right wing swing coffee house
junkies
let the lights tonight be strong and free
reflecting from Dodger stadium to the ferociously tame
surface of the Silver lake man made designer reservoir
i prefer the older ones
your chest swells and collapses in slow motion
i miss watching the hairs curled up tight in salt and pepper rosettes
you didn’t love me i was too young but on cold lonely nights you couldn’t stay away from my womanly thighs
i drank alone on the floor cursing the day i was born then when the sun took her post
i walked through my door having to face the world again
blunted
why so tough kid cry or something
i’m ok man don’t trip
your friend overdosed in the hall by the curtained room
are you telling her folks or who
we called your dad isn’t he coming
no he said
do you want to go to the hospital your nose is bleeding
it does that when i hurt
oh did you fall down
no i hurt for my friend growing up even my toys were mechanical
beauty quiz flunkee
i like to wear the black t shirts like Lou Reed wore
and my eyelashes full of black goop eyeliner slapped on crooked
the kids they talk of Spotify but they’ve never felt the living beat of playing a Fender Jazz bass guitar im just a girl but not really just uh girl there’s kinda a lot of intersectionality my heart she beats in tiny bits when we see your smile and when i bathe i hear Sweet Jane whispering to me under water and on some nights my eyes can’t sleep we chew our nails and tap our feet the holes on my black jean’s get wider i think my feet are kinda big as i bounce twinkling stars off the tips of my toes from the blue sill of my bedroom window but then the sounds of laughter travels from some neighbor’s t.v. reminding me of the possibility that i might just order botox shots tomorrow
eating my words [ix]
sad love story
he ran fast breath short dry throat up the hill where she had said she would love him forever when he got there and searched the air he found no mystic moon he knelt under the weight of his sorrow
directly at the sun
there are no more metaphors
it is what it is
it has always been that way
but i couldn’t really see
no more soothing loving touches
like the caressing of a wave
you are gone in body now
in heart you were never here
i’m a creature who loved the dark
my metaphor box is empty now
perhaps just a dried mosquito wing inside blown in from the mountains
no more dancing gracefully like the darling swan nor can i really say that my wings have been completely clipped
every now and again when my brain breaks free
some grungy renagade metaphor breaks free and i fall into my norm
but yes the metaphors divorced me cold got up and walked away
they drifted toward a London fog
never seeing them again
in my life now a rose by any other name can be a rocking chair
driven like the snow
drives in the month of June
the end of my winding road
seems to not appear
but with Papa Hemingway by my side death might play peekaboo
at midnight’s xylophonic stroke
but until then my body bare will lay in suspended state supine and starring directly at the sun
birds and fig trees
baby birds tucked in the fig tree yelling tweeting at the top of their tiny bird lungs
little beaks automatons
of nature booming from
the hard green fig tree
as i remained faceless
from the gray black trunk
of that biblical tree
i peeped itsy bitsy baby bird
feets hanging on to knots of wood these baby birds browner than brown and oranger than orange
such a concert hall cacophony of teeny tweet tweet prayers
north side babies
the dusk is silent
only eddies swirl about my feet
i hear my steps on pavement
come up through my teeth
Mexican bread cinnamon spiced
marries with the hotdog vendors
porky delights
my mind turns to the downtown kids dressed in oversized everything smiling laughing smoking weed back packs on their shoulders
laying on the grass at Pershing Square talking about markers liberty and what’s out there
in the universe they float in
philosophical of thought
passing only on the left hand side
no particular goal today other than just living forever
words less spoken 