Aidan Hallston

Aidan Hallston was a quiet man i noticed him he stood out from the rowdy boisterous crowd my father kept in his garage on Saturday nights the wind and birds at time would say that Aidan had lost his family to the bottle without a ship i spoke to him from a distance and with time that distance began to heal Aidan’s dialect was through ratchets and wrenches and i was an eager student the days went by and i grew bored but Aidan Hallston stayed among the foreignary of LA so far from his own home now that i’m old at night i think what could have happened to him and i smile at his gesture of love when i tried to smoke his Lucky Strikes and he said “they’re no good fer ya’ lass”

welcome Charles Bronson

the Orpheum was the place

to be on Saturday afternoons

with the heat and the stale buttered vapors

seats made of coils some stuffing and velvet

were a dollar 25 each for a matinee with Bruce Lee

dragons and fists delayed come backs and flying weapons

id sit in the dark tootsie rolls melting in my palms

waiting for my Da to bet on his horses

and roll with one of his Misses

during intermission id turn my head round

and was quickly turned to stone by the shine

of the projector and then the lights would

kneel down and welcome Charles Bronson

with the guns and the cars and the wishes

once upon a time

contact high

your fingers in my mouth

last night

your grey eyes pierce

the defense

green eyes beg for mercy

fingers palms around my breasts

your lips have sealed

my arguments

the weight of your command

over me while my legs lock you in

nothing about us

is so simple

while our breathes spar under the stars

the waves have chosen sides

an angry surge and im on top

but your hands clutch my hips

ive fallen under your rhythm

studying the pleasure on my face

rolling like the ocean

you gain command of the tautness

of my body

denying me nirvana by the shore

the traces of urgency on your wrinkled brow

are buried in my tangled hair

fingers locked in final battle

we come to a mutual agreement

Elohim

man creates his prison bars

in rods of dustless time

b.c.s, quantums, leaps, bounds,

seconds, aeons, even Chronicles

and Psalms

          Alphas and Omegas

              terrible endless frontiers

and there You are

               all Light inside of us

the madness of your grace

in the hour of the last breath
before the cliff is jumped
and the red of the blood
has lost its vitality
and her lips die for words of regret

know that i have loved you
with all of my all
the universe stands witness to my sin
that when i choose to abandon you
know everything in my heart
has broken and spilled out

it is not easy to devout my all

to you

i cannot see

when you are not there but i charge on
in the lust that things will come
to a halt and i will rest
you are of war and i am a gun
without trigger

Rexall

on the table is a word
followed by dozens of
other words lying next
to each other in lines of
instruction, warning and
grief

although the moon has
dropped her pretty face
i pick her up by her wise
chin and beg her to shine
again

the stars in my moon’s
hair dance like beams
in a driven stony river
where the bones of time
soak unto the soil of my
bloods

a wall to wail upon

time is deep into the night
i am alone as i like it.
about 20 feet away i hear my puppies
licking themselves.
a noise that keeps the monsters away
and lets me know
that i am thinking,
that i am alive,
that i am aware that
20 feet away is life.
 
goodnight Michael.
too bad i did not get to meet you in this plane.
i think initially we would not have liked each other,
then maybe i would have liked you a little,
then maybe you would probably have thought…
 
i was hysterical and crazy.
but maybe i would have been in
the pre-contemplation stage of maybe thinking
of liking you a little bit more than
the prior day.
but it doesn’t matter anymore,
does it Michael?
 
i will tell you a secret.
i went into the computer today
to hear your voice.
it was soft and friendly,
priestly at times.
it made me very sad.
as a matter of fact
i wasn’t sure what to expect.
you are smart.
you are far away.
you are in my walls,
etched in the clay of my skin.
unbeknownst to us both!
 
are your pictures your memories?
your newspaper lines,
your broken parts,
your Chinatowns,
all of those colorful delights?
i feel you at the base of my brain.
my heart is nauseous
knowing how you suffered.
my heart is very nauseous
knowing i cannot fix myself.
Michael i think you would have dismissed me.
 
i have two left feet
and could not have danced for you.
your memories your pretty dancers.
your pink pajamas hit me fucking hard.
you are unfair.
i never met you.
i never shook your flesh or looked you in your soul.
like men,
like cowboys and astronauts and Superman.
Michael in a most secret and non-sexual way
you have made me into a woman.
like a cure with no disease,
i continue to think like a man.
 
in my boxes,
and my pen,
and my quill,
and my colors,
and my spoons,
and all the steps
i have to take.
12 aren’t nearly enough while believing not in one,
but smiling so they can survive
through you.
 
Michael i have learned to communicate.
a lesser temple granting me what no one else could
grant me here on earth.
you saw it in my inner fears.
the deepest of my perils,
from the cave men to the banana men.
all of humanity beyond you were there imploring,
when i implored for my father
and you knew how i felt when i was 4.
discarded twisted teddy bears.
my menagerie of life.
 
how could you know how i felt?
i don’t understand Michael.
all of my gambles crystallized in one screen.
your words and your contract
gave me a wall to wail upon.
when no one else willingly accepts
what has been created of me.

for Mike Kelley