one night at Lou’s gig

Lou remember me from the nose bleeds at the Greek
among the stars and trees you sang about magic loss and happenstance
we were together in LA
no one thought about the irony of your songs or the tragedy in the sparks of people keeping people down forever the sigils of history warn
that night when the heirs raised their fisted hands for some questionable victims
the silver spoon afternoon faculty culture bunch joined the fun to line their vote pouch
the loss streamed with hemorrhaging velocity happenstance remained the same
under controlled televised well made up coiffed dos they watched her burn five days the news ministers said
yet we were all born simmering
Lou i left the forest and i left you
to feel the burn wicked with the same  fire of Pharaoh and Baba-ato
the Tlatoani and Xia and Shang
but in modern America Lou we both agree we prefer to do it Roman style

Diego the flowers

Diego the flowers
that you painted on the backs
of golden skinned girls
farmed in mass inside buckets
now sold by broken old men

Diego the flowers
bloom no longer green and grain
just soak in buckets
on sides of freeway exits
food colored twisted blossoms

Diego the flowers
indigenous majesty
from a time before
the conquest of Silicon
with barcodes on their petals

murky

did not from the man i come
the rib to be exact
and when i die
you’ll lay me to rest
like broken asphalt
why is there only reverence
when in my place i stay
across this she world
from hut to home
but when i dare to steer
a clippership and wear that big hat
even my mother hits back
we cant free the goddesses
with the same keys
used to lock up their minds

i want to rip my hair out

i’ve seen multiple coroners tents these few weeks white tiny like a fortune teller’s but there are no chances no predictions no suspicions just finality i’ve not felt myself murder being televised 5G capitalized on death’s dealings my smile and gentle nature up on stage demands the talent and strength of an opera singer the gall of most world viewed presidents laying down or standing still mind woodchips all of my plans palms to the sky warm sun light reminds me that there is a God i’ve seen the death of my father dressed in blue he brought down by what he held up all of his life i’ve seen the death of my mother and the sting of unfamiliarity that divided us i alien child no umbilical cord on my feet walking slightly off smell of medicinal debauchery from last night peppers the air snippets sensationalized wishing shards of words empty whirling eddies of promise obscure delicacy is what i want when i want to be alone middle age was always middle age at any point in time imbibed in the yolks of many situations took on the foil as well as the queen as well as the beggar as well as a fiend feeding rats in the alley in the middle of the day with words that mean nothing but carry weight just the same i’ve seen too many coroners tents bottom line no one gives a fuck is the appropriate cause of death on the only certificate some of us will get privilege tells me to take some time trim my cherry tree smell the air inventory what i have and be grateful count the finches outside fighting on the bush that has a doctor and expensive fertilizer i want to tear my hair out at times rage knock over bureaucratic tables like Christ in Jerusalem

valium crash the news looks bad the ship has lost its hull

there are walnut trees on Pluto i think
crystal diamond blue
horizon upside down
center dividers stars in bloom
Ernest H waves from a black velvet bull nebula
shooting at gazelles in heat
downtown city hall fenced off from vagrant free radicals steady to explore
news of the day inner tubes
floating up the ice tundra
teeny tiny core
liquor stores
barbershop
bank building
bikini lounge
margaritas screaming opera loud
golden arches
chicken all militarized
taco toll
franchise whores
open for business
Pluto has one cherry tree
at dawn we read thee Book
thee Morning Star’s dead light
we shouldn’t tell those lies
could the gropers mashers and fiends
grandpa killers darlings of infallible machines (wink wink)
dare to go where print castrates them
Pluto tired just like us
rotates on her side
ferns and fossil bones fuel
glistening surface ice
Charon chases Papa like a Marx brother
down a Cuban blvd
Che comandante semper fi
make a left on Broadway
Pluto grows tomatoes
shipped to Mars
on backs of rain forest mamas

defcons and goddesses

there are yellow flowers honey sweet
butterflies floating in between 
the thorns stick it to the sky
moons on time every month
silver matte and happy
but me thinks now and again
of defcon one through five
911 Cuban crisis kept at bay
yet with clear blue  skies
hope
open enrollment
healthcare packages
named after heroes named
what difference does it do when little girls are getting maimed in mind body soul and spirit
today i watched and saw and read and talked to those who’ve climbed the ladders of success congratulations were in order
at the park the pecan squirrels were fed bits of corn and French bread crumbs
and when i turned my eyes to the west
tired with the wind that blows to burn
again i think of defcon one
and how since Lilith and the Eve
my kind has been regarded
but we’re still here with codes
of our own bestowed upon us
by the goddesses Grace Strength and
Thunder

the state don’t

night-time the city groans the street she’s made of skin and bones metaphorical of course the trashcan luminaries glow come closer girl witness the yellow flames doing the mambo

the eye fixates on chewing gum chips greens reds blues and whites tanned by side walk bacteria to look like leather lockets

a lonely saxophone sticks out at 7th he sways low and high traffic its ventriloquist serious things do cross my mind not just my trivial troubles

electric gadget old time store shows moving pictures all day long but i think the state the state don’t own my color divisions revisions im fed 24/7 of multimillion dollar fist and knee hustling heroes of the people

the moon flipping me off the feet trudge through the tunnel’s mouth a dollar here a water box there three cups of coffee a Jesus pamphlet a drug lord stare the woman bleeding a call for help an argument here a stare down there and the toothless guys use purple flags to wipe their asses

the state the state you don’t own my color my truth is mine and we the we don’t really clash  the state don’t own their color either

i earn my bread i pay my share to keep the oval circus going but so do they of every hue and be aware that shadiness comes in every tone from every corner of the globe machine don’t use those kids as fodder

i want to be who i was born to let the children go so state the state i feel your scorn but fuck you you’ll never own my color if polished sand ceilings or jealous sisters end my ascendance here at least i’ll die knowing i fought my way with opened eyes and steady brush to take the hands of everyone and paint the tinge of human love inside me