early on laying on the warm gray beach with tiny fleas hopping from foam bubble to foam bubble my cheek is tanned by the white ash sun then i see him long black hair chains everywhere eating rice balls and drinking Heineken my thoughts wonder off to speed metal a sea gull zips down to take a piece of Twinkie from my hand the shore it lays tranquil divider of land primordial real estate agent the music in the waves loud clanking slow motion at high speed the Buddha with sun glasses spread out on Venice beach uneasy vibes orient depress let’s chant for new year but awareness comes from remote controls he’s done with rice balls Lama of my dreams Leonard Cohen can you hear me look to the sea my third eye boils my peace upside down hearing the call of awareness while being chained to madness and the singing elephants trample by
Depression
a feather
back in the day of orange koolaid and Brady Bunch dreams candy cotton and carburetors diamonds pills and fancy ladies the news and no direct tomorrow TV dinners multiplex sorrows mop top slinky singer crooned in silky voice to the effect of time having no patience but i don’t blame those frigid tocking ticker arms because i’m a slow floating feather from a city bird molting from the Eiffel Tower statue sitting on any trinket shelf on Hollywood boulevard and through the fibers of the strain i struggle float away slowly in a deafening rage tickling the balls of all those who pose to be the royal peacock
Sunday with Hank
pain without reason you said i understood immediately but Hank aren’t we born into this situation
forever we seek to understand is pain the ultimate secret knowledge Hank you’re there with Buddha is that what he found
women understand but in the end we are all human what’s between our legs is incidental
i’ve stood on city sidewalks on the streets you’ve lived on and everything is the same the rat race is quiet in most places
i love watching the angels downtown we are a rainbow of gray brown and black
some in the name of ethics money and pretense call it trauma or grieving or processing events
to be beat raped tortured sodomized insulted belittled ignored and cast aside drugged whipped lied to and left to die some of us in shame and lies in the most dangerous of nuclear families
Hank you’ve been away from me remember DeLongpre i used to stay there too and how many more places we have been it’s been so very long
your thoughts and absolute surrender to the madness of our lives you painted beauty in it’s natural form although it wasn’t what they thought
hey baby since you’re up there in the clouds can you ask the Main Man for me when you aren’t too busy now
if the reason for our mortal pain is so we will seek Him out
cylinders
i
am a
spec inside
fallopian
tubes tied in silence
wandering in sepsis
with no nebula to birth
me in and mold me to be free
wicked cold frozen fire line my
eyes to shut down at dawn’s reverse rising
you my twin enigma engine super
star in brilliant tigress opus
the moon intends to strike upon
weak hands that try to hide her
floating spec dance away
into dead eyed shore
narrow pathway
stray comet
bone star
still
stone
a line followed not straight feet hollowed out by the bumps of life
a beat heard faintly like a radio sign from outer space on a kids ham radio
intuition dimmed heavy without direction like broken jade frowning atop the china cabinet
a kiss blown by aging beauty queens to the princess up and coming
young girl twirling on a pole old man staring at her bones she thinks of tea sets and raggedy Ann doll he thinks of the life he once so loved who is buried six feet under
the flowers radiant pinks and red stems green and full of life across a dirty street i sooth dry skin and raise my glass to Martha
al otro lado
al cruzar espero nunca regresar
ao atravessar espero nunca mais voltar
at the crossing im expecting never to return
kleiner clown
stars twinkle quietly pretty shards of diamonds distorted by millions of eons away from my finger tips
surfing in my mind thinking of my mom Lou Reed starts to rise and my heart falls apart
the bitter melancholy comes in sputters black roses start to wilt
thoughts float about in icy sky line no snow or eastern blocks in California
my mother where did she go where was i left to the mercy of the gravity among the milky way
Klaus Nomi sits in shiny triangle black space to my right singing opera lullabies
the water from my eyes wells up but doesn’t spill instead it boils down to dust which i use to bury myself no more lingering on
reading books of talismans in the pitch of the darkest part of night purple pinks blues and blacks
with the soot from the bottom of my foot i draw a wide smile upon the center of my soul
where in daylight for your pleasure will always be radiant
Bell and Howell
the sun slides down
lays her golden head
on Dodger mountain
i look around the apartment
notice that i don’t have much
just a few books
electronic essentials
some cooking utensils
work files and water color trays
an old nonoperational
Bell and Howell
and i wonder
was it ever
my intention
to live like an old
widowed bitter sailor or
to be a neat little wife
to have douching schedules
and cook kosher Shabbat dinners
and worship at the west side Temple
roll with the punches like ladies do
claw at my chest with dignity
and gasp at the lukewarm horror
that Stanley cheated on Sherryl
while my praised dentist husband
works her very late most nights
or was it ever my intention
to be rich and famous
with lovers of all intersections
and gleefully snort exuberant amounts of blow
while getting handcuffed away to the station
wearing my sexy Nirvana ripped collar t shirt
now stuffed away in my mid week LA night
freckled with hoarse tooting car horns
and blinking half dead street lights
i breathe deeply and smile
wondering what my intentions
will be when i grow up
and painfully emancipate from this
spiritually bereft confusing mess
that squeezes me tight
as she coyly stands
quietly in front of
that old thrift store
Bell and Howell
the photo
there you are ever so elusive little girl in marching boots eyes full of emotions jaded and dry your face long hair going it’s own way and your lips couching words hardly ever spoken what happened to you can you tell me anything or do you assume i already know the pillow the dark room the old narrow bed sheets scratching and pricking like thorns and when it was over the negative processed in the infinite dark rooms of our mind days became stages of distortion where actors die to live but you exit right all the time the night’s cusp on your worried face the wider you smile the deeper the pain snapshot smile snapshot cry snapshot deny
ferris wheel
free to float slowly
through time and silent spaces
where angels hold me
words less spoken 