the riverbed is cool the cranes have a yellowish belly but are beautiful nevertheless there are bleached soda cans but the logos hang strong against the California sun i sit by the reeds and watch the Chinese couple dig in the mud for long lost jewels they explain the husband is originally from Kansas she says i watch on until pitch black leathery little birds with mean diamond tinged eyes and beaks yellow like egg yolks begin to crowd around catching tadpoles one stands on a mossy Takis bag on the trail bicycles travel north to south and vice versa i only see helmets from my shivering reeds somewhere by the train yard an old trash truck backfires and the mean little black birds lift up into the sky like a flamenco dancer’s skirt my eyes pause at the rim of Dodger stadium and out of nowhere my mind drags me to the summers eating sticky juicy watermelon slices with my sister as the grown ups drank howled and listened to the game on an old radio from their army days and now i wonder if they died knowing that some day i would be leisurely sitting by these LA River reeds sipping fancy tea watching treasure hunters and fancy bicycle helmets wiz by and are the yellowing cranes the souls of our lost boys from the Hanoi Hilton
Atwater Village
where the dusk of the living sighs
You higher power
Holy Ghost
Dove of Peace
Lord of Abraham
i have always loved You
not in a temple home
or candles steeples crowns of thorns
i’ve loved You through his venomous smile
the flowers on the bush deathly sour
the raindrops of my heart
through the ruffian storm of my disease
the nails that bind me to this salt
that seasons human behavior
gawking at birds pinned in the drowsy sky
dots of tenuous freedom
i’ve loved You through his lips of lies
midnight dips
of hazed oblivion
through my veins i thought of You
hollering the choked mangled Hallelujahs
i have always loved You
on beds of death
i’ve laid my head to fester
my lips quivered caving inward
the name of the unobtainable Highest
cardboard hallowed sidewalk snares
i’ve loved You
fearful through the steps i took
where the dusk of the living sighs
winter haiku
winter
pink
the
urban
cloud
eve
sky
cool
smoggy
air
and
taco
stands
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

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
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
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
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
patience
with warm scarlet tears
she sits sometimes she glances
rosebuds slowly yawn
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