i remember that garage
atop of the Echo Park hill
pretty in spring
bikes built to thrill
now my hands empty
mind full of memories
that fueled my entire life
the end nears by
we come close now to the station
we could never use words
only cryptic sensations
what sets me apart from the Godly
she asks
i can’t forgive what’s been done
i explain
all that is left
are two daughters
and a conjoint broken heart
the thing it is fantastically big
dark with some pockets of rainbow
like an oil spill choking oxygen from the sea
this thing it creeps upon me
looks me in the eyes until my glance falls
to the ground beneath my bare feet
such a crazy thing it is comes when i need to rest
and like a vine above my dreams there it hangs
menacing the angels and their holy valor
the thing it swallowed my St. Christopher
when i was three it crush my compass too
ripped my maps to smithereens
left my raft broken in many places
now that i am old and sunken in
this thing still haunts me
it shakes me shrieks at me and makes me cry
i have tried to fight with fire water and dope
then i thought i’d be nice and slept with it
but to no avail this thing grew denser and denser
not even the sacred doves could pacify it
but like all who have come before me
and to those who come this way
i have learned to exist amongst it
this thing my fearful monster
i chained to it
both night and day
we listen to agent orange when were pissed leave us alone don’t come in to the room our eyes are bloodshot with rage and shrooms it comes like a wave of lava and we thrash the place cut our arms on broken bottles there they are behind in the closet leave us alone if you know what’s good for you why do you tell us what to do when you back stab your neighbors and talk about fools we demand to go back to mutti’s we don’t give a fuck what your judge says hey asshole we’re just a kid not your self-righteous toilet paper wad to wipe your evil ass with we listen to agent orange when were pissed and the neighbor called the fire department cus the front windows shattered on account of the sonic geetar’ licks and surfer grooves oh we forgot to mention the baseball bat from out in the patio and your girlfriend’s mirrors are shattered into as many bits as apologies you owe to me fuck yeah we’re still pissed and we will always scream as long as you won’t hear me
In 1993 I learned two things about Chinese culture. First that it was the Year of the Rooster and second, that “he who strikes the first blow admits he’s lost the argument.”
In 2003 I sat in the Cecil’s lobby, putrid and rancid with depressive thoughts, but hoping to score; human companionship. No one was there anymore and I was an adult now. My mind meandered.
Rooster was my father. In his youth he was Billy-from-Easy-Rider handsome, cocky, and a womanizer. Rooster would never back down from a fight, ever. He drank enough booze to fly a plane, snorted mountainous amounts of cocaine, cursed, worked hard and partied even harder. I heard that in the autumn of his life Rooster wore scars and tattoos like medals, sped on motorcycles, and had no connection with the children he spawned in and out of wedlock.
Two blond women with big jugs stomped into the lobby and yelled at the janitor demanding that he produce a Roy Mingus. I’ve never forgotten that name on account that is sounds really cool. I imagined Roy looking like Hugh Hefner but broke. The ladies left into the back of the hotel and gassy breeze sneaked in; I thought about Los Feliz and me squeezing lighter fluid into the barbecue pit when I was five.
During the years of my short lived young life, my mother survived through ten years of battle and then my parents divorced. When sober, Rooster was verbally abusive and when high and drunk ultra-violent if anyone crossed him. Other than that, he had been a devout Sunday morning Catholic, chest pounder, and rosary wielding. Tithe giving included.
Rooster came to the brink of death a few times at the hands of his own brother, Gjeo and their motor cycling brothers when they got wind that he’d beat up some broad. It wasn’t in their intricate code of ethics to strike women or kids. The running joke amongst them was that Rooster was like Lazarus for having the longest record of recovery after having his ass and several other organs handed to him over the years. In some ways, I admired the resiliency in him. In other ways, I had always felt profound sorrow and tenderness for the old man.
I curled up and nodded off into the ozone of the lobby. It was around one in the morning that old Pike straggled in and woke me. He startled me and I swung, narrowly missing his crotch. After cussing and gasping he sat across from me in the greasy old easy chair. We started talking about lawn mower motors. He chattered away, but my mind was ten years back.
That 1993 spring mid-morning was fragrant as the moisture in the air teased out the green hopeful smell of ferns and pepper trees surrounding my uncle’s garage. I needed my uncle to explain catalytic converters to me. My mechanic wasn’t able to fix my Jeep and maybe Aces, as my uncle was called, could.
in 1993 i learned two things about Chinese culture first that it was the Year of the Rooster and second that he who strikes the first blow admits he’s lost the argument
in 2003 i sat in the Cecil’s lobby putrid and rancid with depressive thoughts but hoping to score human companionship no one was there anymore and i was an adult now my mind meandered
Rooster was my father in his youth he was Billy from Easy Rider handsome cocky and a womanizer rooster would never back down from a fight ever he drank enough booze to fly a plane snorted mountainous amounts of cocaine cursed worked hard and partied even harder i heard that in the autumn of his life rooster wore scars and tattoos like medals sped on motorcycles and had no connection with the children he spawned in and out of wedlock
two blond women with big jugs stomped into the lobby and yelled at the janitor demanding that he produce a Roy Mingus i’ve never forgotten that name on account that is sounds really cool i imagined Roy looking like Hugh Hefner but broke the ladies left into the back of the hotel and gassy breeze sneaked in i thought about Los Feliz and me squeezing lighter fluid into the barbecue pit when i was five
during the years of my short lived young life my mother survived through ten years of battle and then my parents divorced when sober Rooster was verbally abusive and when high and drunk ultra violent if anyone crossed him other than that he had been a devout Sunday morning Catholic chest pounder and rosary wielding tithe giving included
Rooster came to the brink of death a few times at the hands of his own brother Gjeo and their motor cycling brothers when they got wind that he’d beat up some broad it wasn’t in their intricate code of ethics to strike women or kids the running joke among them was that Rooster was like Lazarus for having the longest record of recovery after having his ass and several other organs handed to him over the years in some ways i admired the resiliency in him in other ways i had always felt profound sorrow and tenderness for the old man
i curled up and nodded off into the ozone of the lobby it was around one in the morning that old Pike straggled in and woke me he startled me and i swung narrowly missing his crotch after cussing and gasping he sat across from me in the greasy old easy chair we started talking about lawn mower motors he chattered away but my mind was ten years back
that 1993 spring mid morning was fragrant as the moisture in the air teased out the green hopeful smell of ferns and pepper trees surrounding my uncle’s garage i needed my uncle to explain catalytic converters to me my mechanic wasn’t able to fix my Jeep and maybe Aces as my uncle was called could
with a fissured heart
and tired hands
aching legs and broken words
i grasp loosely to
figure
out
what is happening to us
i created the west of my spirit
and was gifted the east of my soul
not a child of import
but yes a child of a pompous war
not of one tribal affiliation
but stuck in the carnal politics
of the complications in people
if you could touch me now
my coat of lesser colors
you could set me free
You and i crossing water
to mourn my tiny innocence
she hangs in the corner closet
pretty robin’s egg blue coat
with every year
that has crawled by
she fades away from me
yeah i’m still at the Gold Digger bar
past 4 am i party hard
slammin’ vodka laughin’ loud
jeans dirty scratched up arms
cigarettes all crushed and ground to the ground
i wear sweat socks with my heals
my man left me for a smack smoking whore
i’m pissed as hell and i don’t know my name
the welfare office cut off my game
during the day i beg for change
and once a month i take three trains
only to have my kids’ foster mom
cancel again
my daddy whupped me and put me on the streets
my momma left him but didn’t take me in
and the clean women from the west side
got a cold fire in their heart
at least my babies are fed
and i’m not crawlin’ on my knees
i guess i lost the social worker bet
the cops they picked me up on Tuesday
they said i was running in the street naked
i ran out of my calming pills
and my doctor said no more refills
it’s ok i understand my face’s a little dirty
my skin is really tan
the boils on my face
kinda’ turn you off
but it’s fine by me
my God above keeps watch
your stinging words against me
are flowers in my crown
i know my kids will grow up strong
and i did the best i could
the court judge calls me unresponsive
a cruel and evil ma’
he don’t know what happened
in Kentucky when i was a baby child
but it’s ok at least I have some common sense
i’d rather let my babies live
than drag them down with me
i never done nothin’ right in life
but i give thanks for my strength
and take pride in the pain
rain and Halloween 14 lost boygirl
LA let’s play East H is the oyster
let’s go nowhere what have i got to lose
streaks of time fingers and others touching
what was part of a dowry gone poisoned
my turn to burn the cancer of this pain
rage shame weakness and hate
the mark of incomprehensible
where did it go wrong
i’ll say it plain
they took my innocence
my sense of self
spirit and mind
and you expect me to shut up
the weed is grown
and life takes course
confusion sets the stage
and the ocean swallowed me whole
i’m dreaming i’m a dude with kickstand and all the equipment i’m not bad looking kind of like Easy Rider Billy hmmm funny how i walk to the whiskey even in my dreams it’s just a dream right oh there’s a chick hmmm she’s mouthy i don’t care for that my middle tingles toughens up a little warmer than before that brunette is quiet her cigarette is sexy what do i do my jeans are super tight i need to wrap my arms around her waist another whiskey man two children who are they hmmm i’m a father the photo says why do i feel like crying shit the guys at the end of the bar will think i’m a pussy oh my God am i really asleep yeah man i’ll take a hit where you from brother Bakersfield i think what brings you into town running from a rap is that your machine outside i suppose it is what year is it brother 1976 my heart it beats fast and heavy the sting of speed is gone a man is a man but inside there’s something wrong fuck no time for that i gotta make the trip yet still i have the nagging weight of Lucy and the kids
it drips and mingles
marries with the blood
soothsayer to what comes
slashes through the confusion
of the heart ethics
of good and not
so much evil is
her delicious name i
a groupie of her’s
claimed soul punch the
mirror to break the
soul it’s cloaked in
tones of luke warm
vengeance clouded in the
wine and chemicals entwined
don’t need your knife
to stab my back
i can self destruct
in searing pleasure do
you know what love
is i didn’t think
so and words fall
from your corpsely lips
corrupting my intentions to
provide a safety switch
to the runaway train
that is my conscience
rage and anger exotic
sisters of pain and
trickery demons extraordinaire in
the doctrine of auto
annihilation i rebuke myself
turn to junkydom cliff
laughing a little in the dream i had a roasted turnip with paprika for breakfast maybe that’s it it’s noon on Alpha Omega how does that work for you there is loneliness in her jeer but she keeps at me i’m not beautiful like a spring breeze i’m not delicate like a feather i cannot be a ballerina with two stone feet i am nothing and i cannot write pretty words like the zenith is your eyes i write rusted words like hurt me with your tongue knife and my ideas weigh like mercury on mars but she the Venus does not mind when i do her bidding our way of seeing life is very different i smitten with the downtown proletariat she with uptown well to do’s i can’t believe you are my daughter i know i say that i agree with you it’s too late momma i’m half way gone it’s best this way no hard feelins’ right i know punctuation and the grammar rules real fine but my lips shoot out the poisons thought of in my heart perhaps if reincarnation does abide the cosmic rules she’s supposed to follow i will come back as a super model just for you but now you’re gone and i see you in the clouds above in periwinkle linen and jewels the color of God’s eyes i heard you mother all of our unhappy life together and while on earth your words did bite me i also learned to use their teeth to cut my noose i ran away and did it my way it nearly killed me too but rest assured that in your way as a mother that you were your raising helped me through
