now as i look in the mirror i see the scar on my neck where his ring ripped my skin off and wrinkles from all of the times i smiled before and after the event during that moment i fought back with everything i had i too was Jacob Israel in my bathroom looking down as my fingers blindly feel for eyeliner i think of Doña Margarita standing four feet tall outside of Our Lady Queen of Angels Church where i had gone that night looking for watermelon agua fresca i was thirsty for normal human contact she cajoled me about buying one of her amulets a little brown felt square with a saint on it or was it Michael i don’t recall anymore i smiled and shook my head no and as i walked away my mind was already boarding cloud nine but she followed me and said llevatelo es gratis i took her offering as her eyes turned stony with warning a few blocks away deranged in the annals of fifth street i lost it somewhere so into the bar i stepped had a few laughs saw a few flies guzzled a few vodkas and prepared to go up to the third floor to visit Taino another LA merchant turning the corner to go into the morgue like hotel lobby two arms wrapped around my 80 pound frame and into Werdin Alley we rolled but i swung with weak little arms i reached and i scraped faces arms noses tracers in denial that this was reality i focused on our collective flailing tattoos then ink covered my mind i woke up in County over hearing LAFD say she’s been a victim of a violent crime yet i could still feel the brown felt of Doña Margarita’s amulet in my hand it was anchoring
Stream of Consciousness
wish
i cant go to the hospital now ive got to come down its just that he made me so mad why do i do this to myself ive got to replace the mirror God im out of control i have an exam tomorrow maybe if i sleep but the blood isn’t stopping if i curl up by the toilet i might not wake up ive got to wait and come down the ceiling is cotton candy lies my skin floats like a lily pad he’s right but why does he cheat he should just leave but we need each other i need to lay down he hurts me so bad just like my mother i feel most alive in pain without it i don’t feel im dead but this isn’t right maybe church but they would judge me i need help the blood is finally clotting i don’t like how i look his other woman looks like the magazine girls im not worth all of this but i have some pride he knows ive never sucked any dick for my junk i don’t think our society circle can say the same for him no they are good people to me at least they listen and were all lost together i wish this was a dream i wish i was real i wish i could disappear how do i do this maybe im just a salty little cunt ok i broke the mirror because i don’t like what i see im not ready to say where it all began i don’t know if i will ever be Lord im walking through the valley of the blackest shadows i hear the laments of others too i cant feel you anymore Rabbi
indications and usage
its not the lining of the heart or the medulla that is swollen it is pain of the spirit anger at the lot resentment at the lack of fairness and extreme abhorrence of the violence in my orbit of which you know that i know i cant fly its just wishful thinking a survival mechanism from a childhood taken so there is absolutely no need to pathologize my just being human i understand youre just the man with the accreditation and i can get that my other man under the bridges of my nation is working on the fly both bringing me the holy candy to take the edge away of the inevitable lesson of having to turn the other cheek but due to heavy handed legal messes summoned by the maternal book of ancient testament coming in direct conflict with the law of teeth for teeth coupled with Eve and Adam’s eye disease i bear the mark of all mankind and gift of favorite sons free will is not for you to harvest in the laboratories of supply at no discount price for first time users
just the flu
the magic leaves sanity a sacrifice ill pay for it tomorrow you gotta get some help tidal waves before me the river banks have failed screaming angels in a rage the faces flashing in the night i look for her and i cant find her sweet warm jello fingers pushing buttons to the elevator going up can you smell the gardenias wilting beeping and the blinking of the medical equipment sent tiny shocks of stress directly to the head the only way to soothe myself after a stressful situation was to savor the sensation of my eyes rolling to the back of my third eye it started with strained nerves and jittery eyelids tiny tear drops oozing from the corners and then the dark flowing through pin-hole relief of my private world painted with French carnival colors golds were greens reds that were milky blood pink old ship ropes and Macaque monkeys like the ones in Tangiers i remember while riding on the ambulance that late summer night
204 months
stars
and
peace magic
the Tip O’Neil
years latch key cutie big
eyed wild eurotrash bastard child in the days
of secret punk band shows underage law breaking a menace to the lawns
the paint on my tiny nails chewed down to the stubs scratching like a cat on the urban totem hey ho
no go not tonight the breeze cooled by something in my heart the hocus pocus speaks in tongues the snakes charm themselves to the crowds and through my throat i swallow 10 inch nails
smokey cries old men die but come again tomorrow with light bulbs in their hands of poison from the gods made with resin from the Tree of Life and so we are like them only for a while until the mercenaries come asking for our ransom in the faces who just won’t give a fuck
our communal star doesn’t point to the north but rather to a place that’s nowhere we could have been babies in the manger with the beasts to keep us warm but my momma was no virgin and your old man joe the drunkard rolling stone left to follow an alice cooper homage band i miss the days of after school of which i hardly went and a chance to interpret Shakespeare at our leisure the stars we caught when we swung high are still there and we beneath them
22 days
third
night
comes fast
bleeding has not
stopped but i wonder how
the little birds are doing outside its raining
the momma flutters about with pink worms impaled on her beak squirming one
last time as slowly as time is crawling my thoughts converse i imagine them eating cucumber sandwiches asking if worms breath
my bladder called mad as hell on account she needed to be emptied cold with wiggly knees i stood as if my life depended on it i smiled a little wishing i could care
twenty two days of my demons staring me down i imagined them wearing fine silk tunics sky blue laughing green eyes and if i could feel them they would feel like velvet i missed the lies but when they possessed me it was if i was being held by a mother tenderly and warm safely
away from the dark but one day my eyes opened and i saw that it wasn’t true none of it tired of my demons telling me what to do i stopped talking to them inviting them in the resentments i felt where stronger than the need for false love and security which they offered so well at first it was easy then it became hard then it was as if i just walked from one box car to another waiting for the entire train to go off the rails
MAT gala
by 4:30 in the morning id be standing in line at the MAT with about 20 others in front of me Barbara wore pink and red when id see her every other day plus holidays if needed there was a shine to the clinic’s sea shell pink linoleum floor tiles learning to hone my ADD mind to the specks of tan and baby blue accents on the tiles id imagine that i was at the bottom of a fish tank i noticed that on Thursday mornings the floor was freshly waxed as the foot prints of my ragged American flag high top Chucks were captured on the surface it fascinated me at times but more often than not i felt shame wondering if this would be the only place id ever leave my mark the tired medical staff started the dosing at 5:30 and then you could wait a bit to see your therapist Barbara was one of the first transgender people id ever met she was really tall and with huge feet a blond wig like Charo’s nest sat atop her head Barbara’s eyes were jet black and big as prunes i loved her caramel skin and wondered about everything that might have made her decide to follow this path the little scars on her face and limbs weren’t caused by happy childhood memories like falling off your bike or whatever Barbara was obviously a warrior on days that we managed to find two empty chairs next to each other she’d tell me about the tricks she’d turn and how rent was getting crazy i was a dumb kid half my nights were spent in bushes at Pershing Square i didn’t know about life or rent and i was lucky enough to not have to turn to trickery during the holiday season i wanted to give Barbara a red lipstick that i had bought from Estee Lauder Barb was really nice to me she walked with my soul through the valley of the shadow of LA after three missed visits i found out through “one fuck” Clark another clinic patron and a one hit porn wonder i guess that’s where the “one” came from that Barbara got busted for hooking and was at County cooling off for a bit i drew hearts and skulls in the bathroom later with the fancy lipstick
Ma Joad’s great grand daughter
mud
coolness
green cricket
calls to the soul
primordial waste
spirit shredded woven
in the skin of the leper
i’ve become night hangs loosely poor
lacking luster my lady shoes not
good enough to walk the sidewalks of the
chosen fools who speed holiness away
my gown humble with the dirt of work
hands clasped in riot darkly hid
elbows turned upright gaping
for fluids of defeat
social sunshine glares
upon my lips
without a
tragic
face
try
mighty
sinner smile
at least look to
the west of Hope street
and the pillars under
the court house of the fake lights
at the steps of public health signs
and with divine encrusted begging
bowl nee five dollar coffee paper cup
we ask again tonight and through the day
for gentle rain across my face gone
away with sorrow full with blown
out stars gazing through the soul
of infant time and sin
seeped through secret holes
in skies hazy
with sanguine
guilty
stain
first grade interpretation of the Old West
pausing by the pond 7 feet away from the peach trees left there by the chuck wagons of 1881 and the gingham bonnets stain upon the rocks placed there to dry in my western sun the Borox box is empty ma’ as the echoes of blond pigtails before the dawn of braces and Barbie dolls flowers dressed in yellow chipmunks draw a crowd and daddy presses on upon the kneeling giant mountains picking day and night sapping land from its sickled blood doing what men do but today my toothless grin will lend itself to draw a sigh from spirits past 1855 in the cavern of the snake
sibylla horrendas
i want to be the animal who takes you so high that you will explode in gold and silver ecstasy shivers down your knees to the back of your legs as i tickle your hairy lower back while i climb on your stomach let my mane suffocate you while rolling your eyes to the back of your head you can see how the Son of Man was conceived up close and personal i want to be the animal who on her slick wet skin patchouli mango scent you slip as you chase me to the stars through a roof of glitter and lightning i’ve never stood with the virgins but as a great fortune teller the secrets of the deepest crevices of the human soul can be found in the tar pits of my eye i am the animal who for 17 ethereal seconds will hold you hypnotized paralyzed and then simultaneously release you when i fly to the sky where time disappears as we turn into the nothing of everything regenerating a new crop of witnesses heirs to the embers of what that we left behind
words less spoken 