here are we the older youngs free we are in cages of deceit roaming their streets coordinates 34.043926, -118.242432 live hear in death daily hung tooth bad finger blue the deal of song we hum in hallucinations good feet bad path lay at your door step cardboard deluxe population dense in invisibility afterglow of probability selling taking smuggling gaping puffing away social security for us the Depression didn’t end soup kitchen tourist flop house nudists we sweat it out ashes torches broken spirits smarter roaches landlords watch the flock Jimmy lost his luck blue like artic ice lips parted breath is gone some one will call kin near Terre Haute Indiana
clocks blink like my heart losing battles earning scars once upon the midnight dreary Edgar you are right this city sigh do i this city this city you’ve reduced me to mud my learning laden with phallic thoughts executed by goddess tongue still dread endures doubt obscures midnight throbs the aching of the tribe etches deeply on the greasy sidewalkclocks blink like my heart losing battles earning scars once upon the midnight dreary Edgar you are right this city sigh do i this city this city you’ve reduced me to mud my learning laden with phallic thoughts executed by goddess tongue still dread endures doubt obscures midnight throbs the aching of the tribe etches deeply on the greasy sidewalk
when you died four days went by until the living souls found you grimace on your face and in the spirit comfort you are gone sometimes awake at dawn i wonder where you are up in the skyline of the last picture i took on our first train trip together poetic in your cries for help you were you’d cuss us out scream in ignorant hatred then you’d say “you want a porkchop” when soul one called it took 3 minutes i thanked her she thanked me we hung up wrote your final moments as an incident report no more angry calls or wasted lies no more interrogations with misty eyes about why the demons at your door don’t show themselves for me i do remember our trip to Mickey Ds you wanted cheeseburgers and OJ we got our order and took our seats while your eyes fled off in wonder i did not know it then although sometimes i knew that the more i pushed you to live the deeper you fell into the belief that your troubles would be over after you visited the other side of that skyline in November
It was cold for the city today. Cold like the first time your palm touches a beer from a cooler. Tuesday around Pershing. Kicking around cigarette butts I look around hoping I can figure it out. The sky is gun gray so are the prospects of the tent city by the children swings. One lone chubby security guard swipes at his phone. Oblivious.
Love is the hardest thing to think about. The thought of it is frightening to me. To them who dwell, and hustle love is crystal clear.
She is there with a pink metal suitcase. The pink pops betwixt the stains of dried blood, chili, and grime. She wears a broken cowboy hat and underneath a matted polyester wig. I’m not sure what to have called the color. Across bent body a poncho, crispy looking like KFC clotted with dirt and hysterical indifference.
From the banana plants steps out a man thin with skinny fingers and yellowed fingernails which at a closer look were filled with black dirt underneath. An unholy French manicure. As he reached in to hug her his Jamaican flag colored letterman jacket levitated in the wind. Then the rain came down on his worn Oakland A’s baseball cap. He smiled with a meth mouth grin and crust around the corners of his mouth. She placed her broken left hand on his left shoulder. And with her less broken right hand nursed a blunt as she offered it to the OA man as a new mother nurses her baby.
I drew closer pretending to look past them and secretly taking them in like a hummingbird delights in nectar. He called her Lucretia, and she laughed a raspy sound. She called him Cesar and thanked him for the three dollars last night. He hoped the cough syrup helped her with her chest cold.
Sitting down on the steps that stare at the jewelry and finger printing fronts across the street on Olive I caught patches of their conversation. Cesar was from Nicaragua. Years of exposure to the richness that is the immigrant community of Pico Union I learned to decipher at least 9 accents and dialects. The raspy lady was from L.A.
The blunt was crushed on the tip and tucked in the hole of her chest. They sat down on a cardboard and took a long look at the day around them. I could tell he sighed as his lips pursed like an old Indian chief portrait at the natural history museum. As she stood up again with her less broken hand she slicked her hat off her head and took off her wig.
“My last daddy hit me with a bat,” was her disclosure as she felt the stitched cut on the left side of her head like braille. Cesar shakes his head and reaches up to hold her hand.
We turn to the west as a swarm of pigeons flap over the playground. The three of us look at each other and smile.
we enter into unknown constants through slithers of history and micro moments of pleasure the winds all colors melt into a netherworld void of all that is zero walk heavy boots through slaughtered leisure ribbon and bow dyed by blood of austere kings of known jungles keys boiling in rot of root upended by the daily news
we great grand children acorns plucked from branches strewn across the roads on a whim of damnation herself still in the red we toil rot away on bended knee collecting rejection in reusable bags we cry not for pain anymore sedated we sit and lay down to partake in the ruthlessness of abandonment
watching the orange trees today full of buds and bees busy life ruthlessly buzzing forward my blood stale purple dripping from my nose the sky falling my feet facing up thoughts spilling from my ear prayer bowls howl when empty dragons chasing no longer lucrative so we reach for a key pad human thought what is where we go solid oak caskets flow among the fields of wires
no here no there no peace no air just You watching me revolting soul both knees weak frail not knowing but understanding too well madness only You see me gone from clay breath taken given away slave to this world pollution no control ugliness takes its righteous toll energy in the black energy in the white dark horse pale horse hurry to my jail rush me through valleys carry me on the trails leading to something unimaginable star nova supreme last night heard screams tis was i son