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

thanks, Toots

dear Reina Señora de Los Ángeles

thank you for the myriad places

that sprang forth from your womb

beautiful whore open to all

from east north west south

thank you for your alleys overgrown with trash

and dirty smoky bars that only take cold cash

thank you for the pruned faced

multinational hookers

who tuck until they’re blue

and thanks for Hillel’s guitar

and X and punk rock hungry bands

i love to look at my reflection

in the puddles of the damned

and thank you for letting me slip away

from La Chata and La Sad Girl at Lil Chuy’s wake

thank you for the tacos sushi and McRib

colonics pilates and knock off designer shoes

and the beggar at every freeway exit

who cleans my windshields with his shame

thank you for the Salvadoran Iranian and Korean

who managed to call the fire men

to save the homeless Viet Nam veteran

while the GOP and DNC

squabble over shit

my Queen misguided angels by your feet

thank you for my complexity

for surviving my last fix

i appreciate you looking over me

thank you for the high end malls

fake nails lip fillers fat cell freezers

and my beloved 99 cent stores

the beaches and the valleys

the mountains and the roads

and for all the hardened gutters

you softened for me to sleep in

the soul we are your people

good bad papered or unwrapped

we are all your seeking children

but i’m your only brat

tallith

at moon’s end

i find myself

trying to stitch

back together

what i so vehemently

spent so many years

tearing apart

the light is subtle

too feeble for me to thread

needles of apology

remorse or redemption

yet i continue on

finger tips pale

pricked by bitter reminder

of gaping tears

i tore into the fabric

of decency and self-dignity

with offerings of woolen prayers

i attempt to mend and patch

a heart sullen with snags and rips

to no avail

on most any day

then every so often

the rays of light

knit me a magnifying glass

and in subtle ways

i toil at weaving

a better human fabric

for myself

of which i make offerings

of tzitzit embroidered with the shame

of tails in between my walking legs

with seams of hope

that mercy will be granted

at the ending of my new day

aerial was i

twilight is a little jagged

rays of Sun’s arms

tremble as Earth opens his

blue doors to her

the marriage bed set

and i’m growing my wings

to fly in the mocha of the night

he beckons my common senses

and i dive into a certain

constructed abyss

my back it labors

as the vestiges

of alabaster hued flight

carries my sins away

then just as quickly

as the virgin blossoms

my wings disappear

into the waking Sun

her face beaming with hope

and as night and i

we go our different ways

my back rested

city aflame

my life clean slated

soul light as a feather

stella mori

universe so dark

just like in my room tonight

stars so far away

a prodigal’s tithe

i bring forth a gift

humble but frail in its heart

gratitude for life

a conversation

i remember that garage

atop of the Echo Park hill

pretty in spring

bikes built to thrill

now my hands empty

mind full of memories

that fueled my entire life

the end nears by

we come close now to the station

we could never use words

only cryptic sensations

what sets me apart from the Godly

she asks

i can’t forgive what’s been done

i explain

all that is left

are two daughters

and a conjoint broken heart

cheveux indisciplinés

i love the color of my hair

brown red and in some places pink

my tired legs and lined filled hands

eyes that stare flat beyond the sky

and a mind that has lost the hard shell

of youthful indulgence and inexperience

i love my lips still round and plump

and the new found freedom

of spouting my own thoughts

that are crafted with the filigree of wisdom

i love my face

oh those expression lines

that will never be usurped by botox

my cheek bones high and tight

to frame a genuine smile at the wind

i love my hair when she gets wild

and i walk the streets of Beverly Hills

stroll in the Rolls Royce isles

worn out Chucks with the strategic tears

where the toes are too tight

salesmen follow me with Lysol cans

and their neat white gloves

that eradicate the traces of the hoi polloi

the hair a right of passage glorious

furious bright riot

reminding me that my agedness

is a catalyst to the third eye lens

from where i can finally see

the dimensions of the world

the good and the bad

and really only give a damn

about the moments that matter

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

the functionalism of dandelions

supple eddies of wind

caress and tickle the yellow

little matted heads

and their thin arm stems

shooshes it away

they stand firm rooted in packs

patchy green grass

sprinkled with crinkly caramel leaves

some dandelion families

those of five and six

adopt a stray apple tootsie roll candy wrapper

that found its way from Halloween

a few rebellious dandies flourish

in one and two and they grow up pretty hardy

before being crushed under a running boy’s tennis shoe

i like those that grow up nice and tall

with shiny pea green fuzzy stems

that little Mexican girls harvest on a Sunday

to place on the altar of the Virgin mother

when they end their day in church

then there’s the really rugged ones

with sparsely yellow tufts

they are angry little spiky things

surrounded by the trash cans

punctured by the littering

wrapped in sheets of rust

those end up having to bear the brunt

of needy cats and dogs

looking for a litter box