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
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
pink vapor rises
my feet grind to the wild song
we howl hard at love
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
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
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
universe
one time before i leave and i lose you to the vampires
you blue humming bird
i orange blossom opened
satisfied you go
when our palms met
that balmy Chinatown night
a little lost canary
from the corner pet shop
sang a melancholic cord
switching his little face
from right to left
he looked at me
and flew away
i had fallen in love
the kind of love
that makes you scrutinize
your breath your weight and even your thoughts
the kind where
you leave your beloved
friends pets and dishes
behind just to think about him
the kind of love
that makes you check your phone
fifty times at two in the morning
you know the kind you lose
your soul to in the encasing darkness
and nothing feels the same
distilled death and i churn my spirit
but you danced with me
for a few years
you are no longer Aaron
i am no longer me
i don’t recognize my smile
its erased forever in your cusp
my heart has melted away in your hypocrisy
my common sense buried under your peach tree
and Aaron he no longer lives here
and i don’t recognize
the song of the canary anymore
tempt
me now
your raw heat
on my begging
lips tickle softly scrape my skin with your
chin take your fingers pulse them low inside
let’s look away
nothing lost
when the
heart
is
broken
tossed in the
rain of remorse
pelvis to pelvis we dance on the floor
desperately clinging to whatever
we should forsake
to avoid
being
loved
