if
you
crack
my
heart
open
a
light
will
spring
out
mitosis
begins
mitosis haiku
mock the bird
in walking Kadapul petals fall to coat my steps
but really they’re just dirty leaves
as my daydreams waft into another direction
there is a certain equalizer in knowing
something comes this way and we all feel it
thoughts crumble upon the upward pounding of my feet
instinct against the grain
follow through with the maps in my head
stop and wave at a child and her puppy
another block and sun does shine
a mother talks a husband hounds
from his sitting family
‘what do you want to drink’
with coffee in left hand
passer bys ignore me
i blend into the posted centennial wall
the one by the bronze pig heads
and the bike racks rented by the Metro line
death mask faces reflected in mine
our wrinkles in the old and young
mock the bird silhouettes of our sky
our return in trying to make sense of our lives
the therapy tray
you have now become
my comfort fire and scent
watching prayers float
post war America
post war America
with my morning coffee
bomb my soul
with bad news
bust economy
we sing the blues
through Alexa
post war America
which one is that
i against i
freedom of curiosity
5G napalmed
no longer exists
the smorgasbord of Adam’s tree
a swipe away from a child’s magic machine
post war America
infiltrated in my dreams
meander through my streets
come witness your children be
we
blue sky the roads in your eyes
we smoked
outside after your show
the happy ones laughed and drank
we looked
and sniffed the air filled with LA River scent
we parted
i stayed behind with my pagodas my cheap wine and that g g allin tshirt
broken heart haiku
pale sand cold and wet
thoughts deep into the night sky
give me my heart back
Hollywood postcards
there are gopher holes on the sidewalk lawns
and every once in a while on Camilla street
the dirt will mound up next to a dandelion clump
someone lived here once and they still do
and they get visited on lattice top pie Sundays
on the front door a wreath for every celebration
and after morning coffee the garage door opens
name brand grass rose and cactus fertilizers
there are potholes and no sidewalks on Alameda
someone we don’t think of lives here and many more
the dirt around her ankles with pink thread strands
in matted hair with feathers
on Tuesday last her blanket drenched in rain
by her thigh a Starbucks cup to collect her pay
peeking into secret plastic bags
her slitted lips whisper at the fence
there are various hours of the day
where heads can’t be wrapped around anything
i admit i’m old fashioned broken indoctrinated
i’m too tired so very tired to fight a fight
good bad or indifferent
the landscape is not what we think it is
there are no alien or governmental microchips
only old Hollywood postcards in our brain
downtown haiku
smashed cigarette butts
ashes across the pavement
the moon winks at me
eating my words xvii
cardboard sheets
the best walk is in the morning right before the sun completely rises the odors of garbage and French bread coupled with bus ozone and weed exist in a universe of the mind and the alley
there are men lined up against the buildings and traffic electric boxes their hoodies exclaim to the world that they are Raider Laker or Ram fans cigarette crack meth and weed wafts creating a unitary phantasmic god of smoke
some women stand by the liquor stores lighting a toke some women have little children and they stand waiting for the crosswalk light to change some women walk on blind to the world face in phone heading for a loft to be beautiful the click emitted by the heel of their Louboutin only amplifies the agony of sleeping bodies on the cardboard sheets
is it possible to be clinically alive but haunt a building is it possible to be shrouded in death and still feel the dullness of life Bandini where is the Spring time
morning is thriving and as the minutes whiz by the city gets hotter the fire department connector pipes have an extra gleam today as i study them they have written upon them the secrets of the street urchin in the sharpie pen dialect
fruit and tamale vendors mushroom up and down the side streets they methodically feed their families by feeding the mason crews contracted to erect unobtainable luxury the divide between those and us is so great by now is our poverty obtainable for them
words less spoken 