Broken Families
love songs
those songs sweet piano notes the ones sung by Adele hurt the most as they remind me of what dad did to mom
those words from boisterous guys showing off on bended knee their devotion perfection and digits of currency in worship of me will someday soon turn lethal
those men with delusions of being the righteous new species from Adam came and it won’t change that they are internally afraid of what their daddy did to their momma
from time unknown we flow and go turning around in circles a pull a push in darkness beams and the light sometimes is not that clear
even tears give up before our heart when we slip into children playing dress up me mommy’s shoes you daddy’s boots the familiarity of violence
time does not heal no matter how much it says in the public service announcement the warning signs the stacking cans of fire water rage combustion on music notes the peaceful hoax of love everlasting
eating my words [xii]

orphan
i often forget his smile the glint of his eyes pulling an old dog eared letter i touch his cursive delicate but unintelligible there are no particular ideas in the tight ringlets of pale black ink his mind was full of scorpions she never returned to him they both mad with ego and one uppance i progeny alone i with a heart full of wasps
eating my words [x]

blunted

why so tough kid cry or something
i’m ok man don’t trip
your friend overdosed in the hall by the curtained room
are you telling her folks or who
we called your dad isn’t he coming
no he said
do you want to go to the hospital your nose is bleeding
it does that when i hurt
oh did you fall down
no i hurt for my friend growing up even my toys were mechanical
nail biter
we sat there just flopped on the hot sticky sidewalk waiting for inspiration to get up and walk i was the nail biter of the pack Nate was the food finder Noodle was the weed finder and one eye Byrna was just one eyed Byrna we thought that we might go panhandle in front of Clifton’s but there were two problems the first was that men thought i was a boy prostitute and after i’d animatedly correct the would be johns LAs finest would get called never a good idea for underaged Clash fans looking for meaning and a mellow yellow evening the kids got tired and took the bus home i walked over to the Cecil and loitered outside watching portly gray and brown pigeons bathing in grimy puddles under the city lights
lost on the way

ya ever listen to sister Tharpe wailing on her guitar while spiking up your mohawk
strumming and tugging at my strands as her sweet sultry honey melts into my ear veins
getting ready for TSOL to play on the Sunst Strip in LA balls to the wall sexy hell
underage but i don’t care the way i’ve been living i’m going no where
life was too lively growing up at home so i ran from the folks
and broke all the rules danced on the shore at 7 past noon
big black ugly boots Cinderella slippers were for fools
stick my tongue out at the sky fill my nose up with white lies
scratches cuts bruises and tears bloody trousers fists in the air
scent of cars black smoke and politicos resign my gender go underworld
Christ Savior i see the Son can You explain why i felt at 3 like 21
riding on the bus with the ladies of the night shift who went to clean the houses of the rich
indignation in their smile as bright brown eyes fell on my style
echoing in the length of the trains how can this child spit on the American dream
missing the point in what i conveyed symptom of the American nightmare lost on the way

death of Joaquin
it starts off by an off beat Gregorian chant afternoon belly bloated with heat reruns of Felix the Cat on TV in his past there is a cave maybe he will have to retrace his steps there upon death as they say drool found on his face they gossip abscess on his left leg old black leather shoe scuffed Cuban heel by an original LP cover of the BeeGees to love somebody the irony thick as his moustache neighbor woman ratted red beehive hair hail to the Virgin Mary cat lady eye liner black lipped chiquita vampira cried to the fuzz that she’d gone to check on him on account they fucked every two months navy blue jeans creased to cut cement Pendleton blue white and gray cigarette burn holes fourth button missing from bar scuffle at Footsies last May Fruit of the Loom classic wife beater still stained with the blood of his grandfather a beloved heirloom his Marine days led him astray in the tunnels of the mind alphabet soup G issued pharm cocktailed with torture death and some bombs upon closer inspection Det. Mullen said he has a tattoo with the name of Belinda on his left breast and the cross con safos por vida mark on top of his right hand directly above the thumb crippled by a Derringer at the sweet age of twelve tomorrow was supposed to be the visit between he and his estranged MIT son who goes there on a scholarship won Joaquin had planned to gift him a gold plated LeCross and his Purple Heart medal for enduring a three year involuntary vacation for his country at the Hanoi Hotel
one day in January
hush she coos
the west is nearing
the sky leaves sullen traces
angels weep a tepid rain over
graves of stoney colored flowers too wounded to proceed wherein
