tears evaporate
leaving behind memories
i stand on wet sand
Coming of age
in Echo Park
only with age can i see myself in those children running and laughing in the womb of the summer night
they
only about a pound heavier than the great water lily pads laying quietly upon the whispers of the koi fish rising to the surface of the pond blowing kisses to the moon
spread the WLS
high voltage
let us praise sweet baby Jesus
for this liver of mine
these combat boots circa 1989
the fuck you nose in the air Lost Angelina flair
thank my lucky stars for me growing up between the nickel and old school Hollywood
i like a mold among the sparkly tinsel glow of all of those who have come and gone
but i am still here, ha!
and to the goodness let us thank you too for gifting me the shadows of Bukowski’s foot steps his words and his bungalows over on the east side
thank you universe for allowing me the courage or something to taunt my teachers with the scratching of my internal she balls
and my mohawk and knee scabs after countless drunken skateboard falls while attempting to take a calculus test
thank you God for the life You have let me have and the free will to let me feel the punching caresses of the days gone by
spread the WLS
sand
grains of sand kiss the nook of my feet
tiny made yet loudly they speak
with an itch at every step
digging my toes deeper
granules tugging down
to feel Earth’s womb
delivered
today
peace
spread the WLS
stones speak
the stones speak
their skin rough
with the violence of time
yet they allow
a few wild flowers to push on
and greet the fleeting rays
of my dying smile
spread the WLS
blues under the climb
spread the WLS
full of promise
sun falls upon hard city street
downtown day full of promise
and to think that we live
between final numbers
and fleeting tantric dreams
spread the WLS
closed door haiku
a soft sorrow falls
doors closed as dying eyes would
no wreath or flower
spread the WLS
front porch haiku
night time clouds and skies
crisp breeze California style
tonight look inward
spread the WLS
purple moon Hendrix
mid day liquor store
sun ablaze wearing gold dress
i sit on milk crate smoking break
from unemployed day
boys girls tourists from Detroit
camera filters flashes and lens
they think im something
but im really nothing more than
a puffer of rings up the sky
beside two buildings
average thoughts baseball innings
hamburger helper bowls
gas prices and cheap strip shows
when they bore of shiny Hollywood
back to hotels and premeditated meals
my arms crossed behind my head
laying on fire escape
conversing with blue moon’s older sister purple moon Hendrix
words less spoken 