thee battle for Los Angeles
Angelino Artists
used to
the mania left
no confetti on the floors
just bits of distorted senses
peanut butter jar lady fingers but no one to lick them
i’m out of maxi pads
but i dont really want to
go out now
closing my lashes pills on my tongue
to keep death from threatening and being a fool
when i was young i saw the gold sound of BBs Lucille rising like smoke when a pope is chosen
life has come and stayed in the mess next to me
thrill in the last throes of something long gone
“silence like a cancer grows…”
thank you Simon and Garfunkle for the gift of your song
mangifera
sweet fleshy skin warm
kiss like nothing else
your orange creamy tart taste will into honey turn if we lay in the sun together
the smell of green emanates from you within calling me to pull the knife
i strip you down to your ripe round middle and gently nibble and suck you down
and when the time is right i stroke you down as i’m reminded of his long missed circumcision
and our tropical walks through Walmart aisles shopping for the Fourth of July
the haiku is unwritten
four in the morning
we sip smokey espressos
Joe Strummer and me
le dive bar
neon beer signs
fire door mural cop
harassing drunk patron junk filled basement
last heyday in 1950s
cheap luncheon bar feed
John Fante tattoo
don’t eat the nachos
jukebox no one can hear
two whores boxing
wino pissing
across the street
one shoe on the other
hanging from the wire
that brought the city down
they work on instinct
they are all prison taught
he whispered candy ass freaks
tell me to suck their dick
just for walking on their street
chasms blur all out
the kingdom gone
the will be fickle
find the beauty
of the bones
encased in jaundiced laughter
sevenbones
the dream menu comes it’s passed around to random strangers as we zig zag through the 2nd street tunnel lined with ceramic tile once virgin white now black as desert sky my favorite graffiti walls cryptic messages like seven bones in my life i’ve only broken 8 we are used to this air nose hairs full of stuff a little boy picks at his scabs and momma holds his cup the number 81 to Eagle Rock plaza goes but we’re not ready for the home bound road instead i cruise ball heel toe over to Grand Central and order a cheese pupusa that i don’t eat and don’t know why i bought from the corner of the eye i see the three delicious ones with mint julep eye lashes calling each other a dirty trollop after a few search engine insults trollop Sassy Ass #1 goes to the ladies washroom to turn back the hands of time on her five o’clock shadow she says Adam’s apple gliding up and down i lose interest quickly as i smell a puff of clove and delay the inevitable loneliness of thought by joining the awe and admiration of booth A23 and their giant Jack fruit bowl a delicacy for the valiant but not for me today and i begin to miss Walt Whitman even though he’s never met me and Lash Larue movies on Sunday afternoon when life was very simple like begonias in the sun with the savory lure of schnitzel and Ute Lemper singing songs
4th
gold line passes through there
four tribes meet and they have been for longer than i can ever know
one Meso one Afro one Europe one Orient peoples beautiful all
same hearts one dream different strokes same same same
the bridge is there she lays on her mighty back we cross not just concrete slabs but worlds too
colors flavors scents labor dignity and the human ego of course
united by segregation of their color segregated from each other by being throw an occasional bone starving of their soul
but upon closer honest sober observation on days of rainbows i can see where the tears are stitched to form the Nation where i stand
we are Los Angeles
riots marches torn down houses strikes children centers Lakers unity churches merchants Mexican chop suey Columbian Korean fusion Woody’s ribs Lupe’s tacos Italian house Red Hot Chili Peppers surfers boarders models ballers
the four directions on the 4th street bridge and what it’s come to be and what we’ve become by it is the rainbow children of our Lady
so before the Hall keepers House gablers blues reds and judge and juries request your seats mind and remember
Porciuncula and her kids do lead and ever will this vast kaleidoscope table
non sequitur zoo
go to the junction where the crow caws and feel like coffee grounds are sacred don’t trample them with emotional support gobblers in the wind do you think pterodactyls clucked the motor is stuck in the mud skipper makes no whistling rattles die they steal watermelon slices from the post man in Cairo i don’t think so but Henrietta will investigate the portfolios of one hundred gazelles with tiny hooves drilling and crunching across the moss that could potentially grow in the Sahara over by the airport where the sea gulls screech holding up old ladies for their drinks pigeons collect the Groupon deals cooing at the seams of insanity
cowboy Earl
gold tooth black Stetson hat
a shitload of loitering tickets and pink assless chaps
he was from Mississippi grew up on bad land
menfolk took his innocence his momma shot herself
we both sit by the parrot tree looking cross the street at the hipsters in the street meat taco line
as if he’d quip every now and again
how’d you become a cowboy Earl
that’s a personal question Grady
cool i’d say passing the Batman portable bong his way
words less spoken 