stoic forehead tense
deep in thought
is he young
hunted for profit
of ego not
money or safety
we talk of
Daniel in den
lions retreat bites
the Lord spoke
now a smile
of some hope
Broken Families
transference
she spills her thoughts unto a loose leaf notebook page with an old blue Bic ink pen
her kitchen table strewn with paper scraps cheap chocolates and charity meals from St. Vincent’s
on her bed plastic liners rolling papers and blue aluminum bags tufts of tobacco on her sheet an old exaggerated Brave on the label
arms scarred by a childhood rash disease that taught her plenty about loneliness
now she the matriarch of two generations birthed from her
she wanders down the halls watching the world through an orphaned telescope
i like watching her turn her room apart
to show me husband’s funerary ashes
and dead baby one shot down before his prime
is the conversation everyday
then my turn to drive away
to punch on keys a progress report
about the life of another woman
whose had to pay a staggering price for wanting happiness
spread the WLS
snapdragons
snapdragons in my dreams are rare
there’s a shadow following me around
my size 8 foot is split in half
and i don’t know when the last time i wore shoes was
you’d be surprised to know
i used to be a marine standing tall
upholding our liberty
i had children and a wife
and snapdragons in Gloria’s garden
where she’d watch our kids
splash in the little pool with Nemo
fish painted on it
black dragons are aplenty
in these sordid streets at night
in the alleys mostly charging at me and Chuck after we smoked a couple rocks his lips bleed from the broken light bulb pipe
the sun still lights i think i’ve seen it clutch the wooden slats between its
solar flares from where i pass out in the mornings
snapdragons are in my dream today
my youngest daughter placed them
at the foot of my grave
spread the WLS
Daniels and lions
i like to see the people in the park under strawberry moon
in Pershing Square a silent film extraordinaire
they sift through refuse cans filled with Starbucks cups and the ever elusive recyclable water bottle
they work through their children’s play dates daddies selling crystal meth to pay a debt to a society that castrated them at birth
or take for instance the widowed diabetic arthritic hunched over Latina grandmother selling chips and Gatorade while watching her grandchildren who were orphaned at an early age because the sweatshop took their mother at 50 cents an hour to pay to pay to pay
the cloister of the lost waifs from mid west America find themselves now staring at the sun crusted over in sweat and cum fentanyl albatross around their neck wishing they had listened to momma
we are here together alone toiling exposed perfectly harmoniously in despair survival but standing
we are here clinging with bare hand to eternal waking time
we are Daniels and lions all
spread the WLS
Gabriel’s boulder
and with the flash of lightening my heart stopped the anguish of a thousand needles in my arms the guilt of surviving what others had not came to me in a night of bad dreams
it’s always by the river where there is pain and fear flanked by genuine love created like a diamond is through tons and years of pressure
in the dream its always cold like a movie with a storm showing something deeply wrong earning us that satan comes trotting to destroy us
the thunder speaks in deep cracks shooting through the canyons filled with rage pouring through the vessels of my soul in darkness my pupils open wide gaping for any light but my consciousness goes under
and that white flash slips through the glass again to retrieve me from catatonia’s grace and prick me with memories of all those years wasted by the river’s bed
spread the WLS
when little ones fall
never again
will the
birds tweet
the same
never again
will your
laughter line
my ears
never again
will your
warmth sooth
my soul
never again
will my
heart jump
for joy
spread the WLS
discarded
the clouds layered gray
throughout this day
watching coupled hands clasped in love
tender are their eyes
looking forward to a future
who won’t surrender to their whims
the old ones long ago bereft of their lover
look the other way
spread the WLS
for Slim and Steve
thorns so sharp
and beautiful like your love
unattainable to the touch
dry and dead like promises made
in a far off night
that was made in a bottle
spread the WLS
the road dogs
she sits there looking dazed pecking at her phone with her pink sea shell fingers
“they call me tre on account i only got three toes” she said in a proud laughter
she feels her way around the rim of her fancy thrift store jeans bought four years ago for ten bucks and donated by well bred college coeds from ANY THREE LETTER U
“i’m waiting for my road dog to help me do my laundry she’s the only one i trust we used to be drinking buddies back in the day tell me if my shoe stinks.” she stretches her tan prosthetic type shoe at my face i smelled nothing
with a distance in her blind brown eyes she asks if the blinds are open because the lights bother her she cusps an old Kleenex under her nose its allergy season
“can you hand me my eye drops they’re on the dinner table next to my dad’s diabetes pills did i tell you that he lost all of his toes and he might lose his left leg? we’ll know tomorrow.”
her head tilted down as if hoping her sad thoughts will seep out through tears of frustration as her father who named her after her own birth country was now struck down and she could no longer be daddy’s road dog either
spread the WLS
spector
he’s gone beyond not to come back here
no more long letters from Vienna
with sad pictures from Kodak
of a wife left behind
with a sickly child
no where to turn
hope long lost
she fades
ghost
words less spoken 