im not of pedigree or coveted fame
ive tripped many a time along your winding lanes
here in alleys where ive sat in ragged tents all day
a lowly worker with brochures of life altering events
the propaganda of voluntold indoctrination
my name is just like any other
from my hands that shake from harder times
i try to read between the lines
when ‘we’ are face to face
drowning betwixt the ones ‘we’ call the ‘us’ and ‘them’
we lure to come into the wasteland charm
of stretched out lips and forked false tongues
gimme gimme gimme the desperate and dislocated
the addicted and the berated running from the demons of corruption
has been the bait and switch liberator’s motto
send these the disturbed and ex-comfortable
so they will become the poster child
of the politica apparatus tweet of the week
yet as a daughter of your sacred strata
formed with the international soils of pioneer steps
of all the peoples’ diaspora
stay with me America
that i may serve
as my inalienable right guides me
to be free to love all human beings equally
Current Events
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
truth be said
mural by LAPIZT♡LA
not feeling well
sleep cradles me im on the lawn black rolled towel holds my neck im tired the train screams and my eyes pop open i get the sensation of German mustard on my tongue and think of mother we called her by her name an extra insurance policy of disconnection although i never knew what she really felt then the Pantry floats about memories of standing in line on Figueroa at the mouth of downtown when downtown was a city there are signs lights most unnatural sports sports drinks sell sell sell dont think dont think dont think i saw a man in Victoria’s Secret robes worn out of poverty then im tired no more then im angry again defeated and dissected from my nature patches of this and that round off the frustrations of seeing this world pass by falling into abyss and in all my time i have done nothing
that ruthless city
if a trail could be found to his beating heart it would be through his ears
the sounds of giant groaning flares flying moons shooting stars music of the cosmos
my voice is not a song it merely croaks and moans steeped in manly brick and mortar
inside the blinding glare of chiming heavenly beings are lively rays displaying all
down to his change cup inside the saxophone case on the shadow washed asphalt somewhere in that ruthless city
dislocated ribs
there are bright yellow red hearted blossoms waving at the cars
trees screaming with a hundred demanding little birds cleansers of the earth after the war
telephone wires obselete and dead
wireless carriers facilitate what’s next
skies gloomy skin tanning albeit
here in my new home away
from the sores of tough living
my body moves more
still the pain gets stronger
wars can still reach me
the curse of gab from shallow tongues
remind me that i’m not enough
and that my fat rolls and brittle hair
are cause for alarm
not that our Mother is burning
i too am fragile to not cry
too salty
to not have the strength to soldier on
i’ve made an executive decision
today i’ll have no viewpoint
instead i will experiment with hummingbird nectar
and hope that they will come and partake
their wings without rest
their bodies steady in the air
thoughts scurry in my head
and the heart
hasn’t found her resting place
still lingers there
between dislocated ribs
for all times sake
why have we forsaken we
when in living off the twilight
inside the erosion of my mind
sometimes i snap sharply from my American
airconditioned nightmare
the balance of me
realizing my internet speed
was a negative impact
on some email or another
the twilight lit up
soon enough when heavy fueled Fedex trucks
delivered my pampered cats’ designer litter
the pipeline took by cyber rooks
named after a Stan Lee caricature
tired from tapping orders and griping
of how the strain in my eyes
wont let me binge watch
zombies and madonnas later tonight
when living in the hologram of prescriptive mindfulness
a new normal cast upon my head
no longer should i be disturbed
and once the tiny caffeine shots
have done their job
all major asshole media cocks
begrudgingly agree
that the Arabs are bombing the Jews again
slapping of wrists from the lips in the oval coffin
my spirit starts to sit upon my couch
the people of my mother
the people of my neighbors
the people who bother no one
in their daily toil to survive
to see their little ones grow
my attention pulled out
looking out the front door
quasi worried about the power grid
the electrical giggles sprouting
from kindergarten kiddos
sadden my heart
why have we forsaken we
behind the last stop
words less spoken 