winter
pink
the
urban
cloud
eve
sky
cool
smoggy
air
and
taco
stands
Atwater Village
falling feathers
black feather floating from the sky piercing gravity on it’s way to the ground where its little gray tips will be dampened with winter weep i stare at cranes by the river’s bed standing on a stick like leg waiting for the shooting stars for miles and years i’ve been right here looking up at falling feathers
spread the WLS
odd behavior
to practise a kind of common sense now would it make a difference medication domination exaggeration death of what we used to be for good bad or indifferent what is it in the seed of them that twists them this way would i know if God instructed it have you ever screamed trapped on your own dream while the glass walls shattered in your castle beware it could be real this panic that i feel while getting pushed into the forest
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gentrification lullaby
pewter
clouds above
five years ago
life was much different
trees lined the children’s laughter
cut
down
for
pricey
empty
unobtainable
homes
spread the WLS
la cuisine du chat
granite vinyl floor
false wood boxes
mac and cheese coffee tins
purple bran cereal bowls
window facing south
just the five freeway
somewhere on the fridge
the phone buzzes Van
shimmies face to face
with those wild nights
cat food plate just a few
orange crumbs left
of the meal she ate
water boiling rolling steam
tea leaves lemon and green
zen light amongst the top of tree
tail wound around her paws
a few splintered thoughts
snug between my head
two souls listening
as the city birds chirp
for her and me
spread the WLS
can’t figure out
why we dream so distantly where the planets question who we are
black holes surrender in perplex look at each other in their deep blue eye
and say forget them
could be that in Tennessee my heart i left there beating
nature are you a conscience forcing me to look at the destruction of the muffler in my car
this morning she a strange lady clutched me in a surrender of half breed slumber
children screaming for their cereal and when i come to they were asking for some pop
spread the WLS
patience
with warm scarlet tears
she sits sometimes she glances
rosebuds slowly yawn
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hesitant
it doesn’t seem so long ago
that i smoked some cloves
was listening to the Pogues
and drifted into some world war
that i’ve only seen in film
over at Grauman’s Chinese theater
my blues are turning black
and though i opted out of methadone
it never meant that i was strong
will i ever say farewell and laser off the scars
of the circumstances of our battles
at two i’m getting up to pee
the midnight birds are wrapping up
the roosters will shortly crow their song
across the street with the old Japanese couple
i like to think that yesterday’s gash was really a fluke
but the book teaches that we must be quite honest
not being responsible enough to make a decision
i straighten out the linen closet instead
until the sun washes away my pain with her golden arms of fire
spread the WLS
fashionably late
slowly the drizzle fell looking up at the amethyst sky i thought of my mother the swallows on the side of the bridge in their mud nests and the Cap out at the People’s Café upsetting as the day was my pencil’s lead broken a scraped knee and a love affair uncontrolled what my blood stream craved was beyond the reach of angels squinting at the stop signs i charged ahead at medium speed fearing that i had missed “A Summer’s Night Dream” the little puckish girl let me in to the crowd of on lookers and she asked for my ticket but it was Falstaff i was looking for
spread the WLS
July 4, 1981
in the grocery cart you find the frogs down by the river
bending in the light to where
the Pacific Bell poles rot at the bottom
in the creek where all the vagrants pee
it’s not lady like to see those things
but i guess i can learn faster to just look
lucidity in their feet as the cops roll bye quietly
looking at the river grounds
“shut up shut up shut up!” the mantra of the
prophetic invisibles fighting to stay in the
black hole
by the river Frog-town groans and the little fire fluffs
spark here and there like in Gustav’s serpents
but Chavez’ Ravine bullies the twilight with a salute to
the liberation on the fourth
and we are all out of innings
