berries placed upon
my achingly thirsty tongue
cooling scorching kiss
Chinatown
simple pleasure haiku
don’t fall to the ground
little honeysuckle bud
i’m not done sniffing
spread the WLS
we
blue sky the roads in your eyes
we smoked
outside after your show
the happy ones laughed and drank
we looked
and sniffed the air filled with LA River scent
we parted
i stayed behind with my pagodas my cheap wine and that g g allin tshirt
spread the WLS
in the hollows
warm like wool blanket cream like gypsy wall boundaries with lust but never really captivated some shelter only in the head down the road of night relays morning light squinted are all eyes to cold soggy existence
spread the WLS
post med
there are days not my legs are weak i walk i walk around the city there’s Christmas in my head and the juvenile prophets have an extraordinary urge to tag just any old word on the city walls there are days but i just walk for the sake of walking i have a difficult time noticing the birds because of the writing on the walls and the writing on their face tells the story of how we got to be in this place there are no cherry blossoms no peach trees no lemonade stands this is reality or a reality
spread the WLS
eating my words [viii]
spread the WLS
4th
gold line passes through there
four tribes meet and they have been for longer than i can ever know
one Meso one Afro one Europe one Orient peoples beautiful all
same hearts one dream different strokes same same same
the bridge is there she lays on her mighty back we cross not just concrete slabs but worlds too
colors flavors scents labor dignity and the human ego of course
united by segregation of their color segregated from each other by being throw an occasional bone starving of their soul
but upon closer honest sober observation on days of rainbows i can see where the tears are stitched to form the Nation where i stand
we are Los Angeles
riots marches torn down houses strikes children centers Lakers unity churches merchants Mexican chop suey Columbian Korean fusion Woody’s ribs Lupe’s tacos Italian house Red Hot Chili Peppers surfers boarders models ballers
the four directions on the 4th street bridge and what it’s come to be and what we’ve become by it is the rainbow children of our Lady
so before the Hall keepers House gablers blues reds and judge and juries request your seats mind and remember
Porciuncula and her kids do lead and ever will this vast kaleidoscope table
spread the WLS
at M. Wong’s
pink vapor rises
my feet grind to the wild song
we howl hard at love
spread the WLS
on 4th street
when the dogs got tired
and laying on the floor
perfectly brown and gold spots
little Dachshund legs
stretch out but just a few centimeters long
and green eyed kittens by the door
wild shooting whiskers
like the sky on fourth of July
looking for big momma’s kitty teats
then we all look up at the window
simultaneously in time
although i’m just passing
through an old aunt’s borrowed room
the whistle of the train
needled through my soul
and they perfect holy and beautiful
yawn at the sound of the force
spread the WLS
out pour
hold
your breath
easy now
that’s good like that
i like it when you
tense up and move wildly
oh see there the moon blushes
together let’s hold the dam back
slow down some don’t give in too quickly
in a few moments the lightning will strike
words less spoken 