the sun she’s sinking down to party in the valley rolling hills full of tumbleweeds thoughts broken desperate for context if only if only if only then there is Sardinia and a dipped toe by a drunken uncle long ago here on the city of angels there city of giants i dig like a gopher i bleed like an ulcer who am i really its no fun to lose your Rhesus at the moment of the light but it has nothing to do with monkey politics i dare say i have no more lice to give
Martin’s song
spiritual hear
the march in our blood listen
dont let our dreams die
cylinders
i
am a
spec inside
fallopian
tubes tied in silence
wandering in sepsis
with no nebula to birth
me in and mold me to be free
wicked cold frozen fire line my
eyes to shut down at dawn’s reverse rising
you my twin enigma engine super
star in brilliant tigress opus
the moon intends to strike upon
weak hands that try to hide her
floating spec dance away
into dead eyed shore
narrow pathway
stray comet
bone star
still
not mainstream
the sun is shy dark weepy sad the red stars on the hipsters Mao bags are dull it is a bazaar of thought living on the tops of the foam of your demon seas rebel rider non Jane Fondaer grown girl he dirty boy military card heir LA west of Hollywood Battleship Potemkin plays let’s go drop bomb on my tongue baby Jimmy Hendrix’s way irony one hundred ways to think that we can go to Sizzler after this and dude your mom has a new car but if i were on that ship ida’ve done the same damn thing he sings to me God Save the Queen and we go fuck behind the dumpster but we can’t seem to fit it in and we go back to talking about politics
stone
a line followed not straight feet hollowed out by the bumps of life
a beat heard faintly like a radio sign from outer space on a kids ham radio
intuition dimmed heavy without direction like broken jade frowning atop the china cabinet
a kiss blown by aging beauty queens to the princess up and coming
young girl twirling on a pole old man staring at her bones she thinks of tea sets and raggedy Ann doll he thinks of the life he once so loved who is buried six feet under
the flowers radiant pinks and red stems green and full of life across a dirty street i sooth dry skin and raise my glass to Martha
who’d a thought
is there such a thing as joy i don’t know what does the experience feel like is it velvety like your graying pubic hairs tickling my back does it taste like your Jack Daniel’s tongue with a Winston smokey chaser down my throat i want to say it looks like your strong rough hands with tiny scars on the tops and intricate lines on the palms of your warrior hands does joy smell like your sweat fossil grease gun powder breeze and the wind of America in your hair i bet joy sounds deep and blue like when you recite beautiful lies in my ears
al otro lado
al cruzar espero nunca regresar
ao atravessar espero nunca mais voltar
at the crossing im expecting never to return
memorandum
would it make life easier for you if i said outloud what i’d rather just share with you
would it make you a bigger man if i would publish all of my missteps and ineptitudes
do you deserve to know how much you mean to me the tears i’ve shed the drugs i dared to impress you
do you care about my thoughts my feelings my decrees or what i see around this word
if what you want is to fuck and bolt pretend that there was nothing wrong
if all you want is to get a title of renaissance man a golden plaque with gilded letters and pretty words
that’s not really me i’m now buried in a cold dark life locked in under the headstone you chiseled for me etched with nothing meaningful
the will nots
this is your city filled with pigeons dogs and the likes of you children i have bred wild children of the zodiac keepers moon howlers zoo keepers of your selves
through my gutters there has never been a dainty lady that has crossed i am not bent to subscribe to what chains me daughter here are my children
waste makes haste to a life that is riddled by pain we are strong we are one but we can’t be here forever keep me i am your queen little angels in designer jeans
forever rip roaring renegade chingona silver screen teen dream exalted to the clouds of gasoline el lay dismay you will not subscribe to fantasy when i am right in front of you
kleiner clown
stars twinkle quietly pretty shards of diamonds distorted by millions of eons away from my finger tips
surfing in my mind thinking of my mom Lou Reed starts to rise and my heart falls apart
the bitter melancholy comes in sputters black roses start to wilt
thoughts float about in icy sky line no snow or eastern blocks in California
my mother where did she go where was i left to the mercy of the gravity among the milky way
Klaus Nomi sits in shiny triangle black space to my right singing opera lullabies
the water from my eyes wells up but doesn’t spill instead it boils down to dust which i use to bury myself no more lingering on
reading books of talismans in the pitch of the darkest part of night purple pinks blues and blacks
with the soot from the bottom of my foot i draw a wide smile upon the center of my soul
where in daylight for your pleasure will always be radiant
words less spoken 