thoughts splintered some sharp others dull and short reports wobble out from flat digital boxes hung from careless walls breath tight or not there at all walking distance from the back to the ground floor books and writing on the walls in the tunnels by the bay ocean blue line thin horizon children grow up and grow into a certain kind of thought me i haven’t grown yet so i color in the sand with tiny sea shells found around my ankles as the tide retreats from me
Stream of Consciousness
Dionaea muscipula
flowers are nice but i didn’t get them often the guys i dated weren’t romantic i guess it’s ok i get me flowers now and again i do love a good road trip and the feel of wind in my hair i’ve never been one to lend herself to tight long hugs it frightens me or when i got to like it they left me its best to kiss first wham bam thank you man and then run away forever i love a nice juicy philosophical conversation or if i could find someone like Tesla i admit that it gets tricky when lust calls but he wants a commitment and i’m not prepared to fold so i’ll walk and i’ll think i’ll paint and i’ll stall i’ll fly and i’ll land in his nest when he is vulnerable
they
they too tumultuous for the human skin in the concrete castles of their heritage across seas and spirits children of the mental Gypsy of the skies buried standing up because of the way it had to be they modern ancients blood slow blue for bruising not for nothing else pain deep from marrow bone deafening in the soul of future fruitlings scrubbing out a filthy spot that wickedly came anyway woe upon no one else but the dueling ‘archs’ and pass the wine for sobbing
reading Oscar Zeta at the park
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
a crumb of life
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
urbanized safari
the bear caves ripe with shade i go in every night somnambular in waking life there are traces and clues of human nature on the forest floor naked toes step on glass butts used condoms as they make their movement toward the yawning door the bears and zoo have left this wing and moved half a mile to a chic man made compound the trees are pink flamingos brown and the cotton candy makes me blue as i am old but living young the monkeys still amaze me i pet the deer and drool at tigers staring up at me after my tender heart has over flowed with spots on the giraffes backs i go to have a drink and i keep drinking on for days dying in my own captivity
one night on Marengo st.
an emergency room is not an ideal place to sleep while you might not get beat up you might catch the flu or get arrested but sometimes you get to see the city in its an entirety a representative from all walks of life and we all stew in our vulnerability suddenly everyone hurts farts groans wails yells angers saddens and feels life in their gut like a cheese grater or wrecking ball if you’re on the gurney gunshot wound to the back easily a kid or a pregnant woman bleeding bad God’s credibility comes to question why did He allow this but my logic doesn’t go down that pussy route going nowhere i know that God is God with no need for anyone especially not someone the likes of me instead i wonder why that kid wasn’t at home at three in the morning was his mom turning tricks did he have a fight with his father or the bleeding woman with half a baby coming out her Oscar De La Renta ball gown while her husband’s wearing a Rolex what the hell is going on i wonder could i have prevented this how am i connected to these souls did i vote the right way did i pick the correct door my eyes dry out as i weep inside the x-ray room while they rearrange my arm loss is loss i feel inside my own insanity and so with dawn i’m finally gone and greet the sun upon the bridge while the train whistles blow as i turn to my left hoping that nothing else goes wrong for the ones left on the emergency room floor
foot note
it’s a dirty trick the world is round and the road will take me nowhere go far away they say as they laugh in my face knowing that i will spiral on forever did You make it so that i couldn’t climb up to heaven certainly in my dream i can fly anywhere it is when my eyes are open that the gutter stinks my red nose upon it the bottles are brown and plenty the snakes jitterbug sitting on the throne of bygones but only in classification how can anything You created be bad free will maybe You shouldn’t love us so it will cost 100 trillion to be green and where will my seed grow thus we pluck each other’s eyes out i don’t want to think anymore or see anymore the beauty is of strange moon beams cats fiddles drug induced riddles Darwin you fucked up revolution on all that was gained the righteous claim their stain on the goodness of the worker
iodine dream catcher
we call it infection thus fever comes hot cold sweat in dream floating away on a cotton boat needles shiny at the end of the bridge approaching me ghosts left over from a mardi gras circa 1874 i only met in pictures shiny orbs rubber balls as the rotten peaches fall into the bell jar tar the road but let me in i want to feel the burning in my vein traverse the universe i don’t think i’m made of clay but i’ll let you think i believe
greatwestern
the hospitals are the same all over i now believe except for the revolving doors everywhere and the river beautiful pigeons and other birds look like they were spit shined and then the river crossed on planks made of steal with tug boat Cadillacs full of salty earth the buildings tall old bones new skin i grin at the sun rays coming at me hard but the old grandfather wind swoops me from the light and in three hours it gets dark and i walk around the park and back to the clinical round of someone who knows nothing of anything beyond the cereal box patients waiting all the time looking tired worn out sucked down pulled up by the soul and sick of heart like the ladies looking out from the Amsterdam house mine eyes search for invisibility and the wolves follow me with teeth and i a fox in sheep’s skin look the other way i don’t want idolatry tonight the French baguette is hard and stale but i get it anyway i want to feel other than myself the urges come like thunder but then all of a sudden it dawns on me that i’m in Illinois and that Abe was a member of the Whig Party tears are salty anywhere we go and why in the fuck isn’t Pluto a planet
words less spoken 