dating app

the evening dewy with tired city rain

bustling streets hurried people

with other people in their lives

to call their own

to be me my only desire was to be

held by strong warm arms

will you be my protector

watching patrons coming in and out

sipping my sharp pop rock ginger ale

i wondered about nineteen thirty seven

thoughts broken for a second naked man

runs into traffic but he’s o.k.

my eyes sleepy mosey on downward

bei mir bist du schoen

serenade the Andrews Sisters while

women named Hazel with a hyacinth scent

sip their gin rickeys wiping their lipstick off the glass

in the saloon there are men reading the LA Times

yet others share lively union talk

then the sapphire eyed mysterious stranger

raven jet hair and a dead maus t shirt

taps me on my gothic shoulder Mary Pickford’s

angels wink at me as they slid off my left shoulder

as he sits down elegant right index finger half raised

signaling the hyperactive bar keep

from the antique flowered gold foil wall paper

Ingrid and Bogey nod at me

and i whisper at old sapphire in a sultry sigh

here’s looking at you kid

spiritual something

as far as little girls went i was not very normal i read and understood language on a different level i could imagine with my mind’s eye seeing the words float up from a page or sign or billboard or holy book like smoke when the Vatican has chosen a new pope

i thought i could genuinely speak to non human life forms through my thoughts and at a young age the whirlwind of the lives of the adults while in my Topanga canyon years caused me to believe in the spiritual something that was always there invisible but tangible only to my soul ever present warning me hide the keys flush those pills down the toilet before they get them and die for the day don’t go home with that man don’t touch mommy’s things hide by the creek

always the presence during the part of life when the soul seizes to be tender and becomes a little hardier the spiritual something became overbearing not like Joan of Arc’s but just getting in the way i wanted to do my will even though it wasn’t the right thing to do for the sake of my soul and well being i followed the human aspect that surrounded me and forsook the spiritual something

now that i’ve traversed several planetary rotations i know it’s there and sometimes i can feel it most often i can’t or i can’t tell if subconsciously i refuse to feel it however the mortgage of my misguided self agency has come due

R 12:9 to 13

the wood peels from the shanks of the inside of the ghost temptation rots teeth grind in the daymare of desperate desire the room with no view the floor is on fire and the sea she is angry boiling up to the chair of judgment it’s not your time yet the mistress and her kin invade my gossypium cabin fever out i say no room in my nightmare you would not understand day three the muscles stalactites reaching up to a god out to lunch remember holy time is different than human seven heads are better than none my hands in outer space the heart percolates in mother’s Turkish coffee pot ssshhh she doesn’t know licking out to anything that moves without a pulse to send some help a little bump a little drop a little cup to ease lubricate the crumbling road to the reality of seals breaking slowly

my Paul

just tonight can we stare at the lamp lights

     gleaming on the surface of the puddles in the street

tonight ange triste will you stand still

    so as to peer upon your waifly silhouette

without it floating from my bandaged hands

    can i be your Paul and place my ear atop your heart

and etch in little kisses i love you on the

renegade palpitations there about

       tonight no wine no smokes no laughing hard

no sucker punches no living the life no mosher pits

                   no altered minds

      just a little silence with you ange betwixt my arms

instead of me amidst your legs  

    you don’t always have to run away   scared little bird

pecker and picker of my nerves  and priestess of my vacuumed        


    one time before i leave and i lose you to the vampires

for a wild Irish boy

tempest in your name

wild love ripples through my soul

tease me rowdy wind


little Valentina jumped up and down by the crosswalk waiting for the light to turn lime jello green her little black patent leather shoes tip tapped on the dirty dusty sidewalk she let go of her mom’s hand to clean the dust off open little palms were no match for the dirt those were her prized church doctor and special school event shoes they couldn’t get dirty Valentina had an excellent day at the dentist and her mom and dad promised her she could go to Olvera Street and get her treat as the family made their way to the Plaza Valentina’s eyes search like a hawk she didn’t see Don Chema the paleta man with his cart filled with frozen delights it was a humble little ice box covered with ice pop stickers shaped like action heroes Sponge Bob and even the Disney Princesses once they got to the kiosk and the giant tree Valentina’s hopes dimmed she looked up at her dad with the biggest brownest sullen eyes and he offered a dreadful solution would you like a churro instead Valentina searched once more and as a small crowd of Japanese tourists dispersed she saw Don Chema she hopped and squealed with delight Valentina pulled on her parents to walk her to the paletero Don Chema in a nasally raspy voice asked her que le gustaria mi reina Valentina whispered up to her dad and she asked for the prized watermelon paleta juicy red with the little black seeds frozen inside

on Wilshire blvd



and white far

away castles

in the platinum

forest painted silver

then the city bus belches

toxic filth into my lungs that

plead wildly and gasp for mercy then

catching my breath and thank the stars i’m home


Carol was trying to find a few cigarette butts to gut out to make a whole cigarette although she wasn’t a smoker she’d sell them to her neighbors in the tent next door for fifty cents with her thin arms and micro wrists she’d toil for a couple of weeks to raise enough money to go to the flower store on Los Angeles street and buy her parole officer a single rose or sometimes two or three red carnations i had met Carol while i was in high school at that time she was in her thirties she befriended me at People’s Store asking me about my perfume on account that she liked it i was a young punk and i told her that i wasn’t wearing any and walked off Carol stood there looking confused but the guilt gnawed at my chest and i could feel my ears turning hot and red i told my friend to go home and i walked backward a few steps toward Carol as i turned to her i mumbled at  her that i was sorry for blowing her off and offered her my snickers bar she lit up and said thanks kid but i’d rather have some of that beer you have in your back pack i froze and denied having anything in my bag although i knew damned well i had a bottle of Daniels i didn’t like beer we both smiled knowing each other’s truth in bullshit every now and again i’d go looking for her with water bottles canned food and the occasional AJ note if i could spare it we talked about DTLA and Skidrow Carol laughed and i watched her and then she started to tell me about her family out in Virginia Carol had been a victim of many unspeakable things my relationship with Carol lasted for about three years or so her sanity was remarkable but as time went on  it became unbearable to watch her sleep during the day in the summer LA heat her legs were encrusted with months of dirt and when i stared long enough at the splotches they were almost artistic or hieroglyphic in a way i stopped visiting for a few months to reckon with my own demons when i returned it was during spring time and Carol did not recognize me i found her on the corner of 6th and Wall squatted down bare footed picking peas out of a tin can with half a label that read Springfield by her feet was an old pill bottle that read Retrovir a few cigarette butts and a mangled how to live with HIV pamphlet


the wind is beautiful soft blue

tonight the moon is quiet just a giggle in a hush

i wait and i call in my thoughts they are impetuous children

while my soul walks on sunset’s shores alone

the sewers carry my logic atop the roads i see the cliffs

down to the ocean gravity tolls a bell

where i wait in the dark for Venus to glow

where i feel your salty cold hands in a fast fading memory

in my imagination cherry tree in symphony

deep down in the last hope hands no longer clasped

of my heart i know not where or what to say

the trance broken by an old girl

starry are her purple eyes

she asks for a smoke

smiling i shrug my shoulders

she comforts me for not having the vice

little does she know

the habit of you  in my soul

inhibits my mind


los soles no miran

en tu fiebre duermes cada noche

reina de la orilla del mar

gritas y pateas a tus soldados

cuando te quieren llevar

a tu palacio en los altos de esta cuidad

tus mandos sin fuerza

tus joyas sin brillo

y tus zapatillas de seda

solo son heridas de la vida

Norma del Reino de Guadalajara

que haces en mi ciudad

perdida de noche

invisible en los días

la luna no brilla

los soles no miran

que tuyos serán los cielos

os sóis não vêem

na sua febre você dorme todas as noites

rainha da praia

você grita e chuta seus soldados

quando eles querem te levar

para o seu palácio nas alturas desta cidade

seus controles sem força

suas jóias maçantes

e seus chinelos de seda

eles são apenas feridas da vida

Norma do Reino de Guadalajara

o que você está fazendo na minha cidade

perdida à noite

invisível nos dias

a lua não brilha

os sóis não parecem

que vocês serão os céus

the suns don’t see

in your fever you sleep every night

queen of the seashore

you scream and kick at your soldiers

when they want to take you to your palace

on the heights of this city

your orders without power

your jewels dulled

and your silk slippers

they are only wounds of life

Norma of the Kingdom of Guadalajara

what are you doing in my city

lost at night

invisible during the days

the moon does not shine

the suns do not see

that you will inherit the heavens