it used to be that brown or black eyes were the abysmal of magical beauty and blues were sparkling pools of Narcissus’ soul staring back at me today i walk slow aimlessly sipping pretending to be comfortable and care free but it’s only procrastination to my left bumper stickers promising green utopia for all to my right oceans deep with human carnage strewn and labeled social crisis the caucused trumped up rallies won’t heal my broken brothers and if i’m not careful the depth of my wavering human decency could quickly shallow up
DTLA Skid Row
simple
just a soft look please
it’s enough to just hold me
want to touch your heart
how much more time
how
the things that are not going anywhere in the tunnels of this life
hands tired how to explain the whys of it all
roads paved with loss hey not everything is a party take time feel her out look in eyes that have never cried for herself
what about the cramp in the gut are we starved disgusted crazy or lost
how did we get here were we tricked how in the name of freedom and doing good did i give up the bond to my soul in a most obscene way
how can i teach my brother to fish how can my brother relish what’s his if he is severely sick how can i teach my sister to fight and feel out her heart if we both have to be vetted and protected from each other
King Eddy study (i)
riley-so how long you hangin out i’d like to show you somethin
grady-since you put it that way i might stay here and wash their plates
riley-Jesus woman you’re harsh i’m jus lookin for some fun i got let out of Wayside two days ago
grady-really i walked out of Tarzana this morning
riley-oh well yeah i was in for stealing cars and i punched my ol lady but it was self defense you see
grady-(forcing smile and nodding raising eye brows)
riley-so can you help me out a little you’re really cute i’m clean as a whistle too
grady-(forcing smile and nodding raising eye brows)
riley-you wanna beer
grady-no thanks i don’t like it
riley-(inching closer to grady and smiling) wuddah ya like then (wiggling eyebrows up and down)
grady-vodka
riley-ok yeah but afore we order drinks you wanna go out back to the alley we can poke around
grady-ummm what for what are we looking for
riley-(lets out frustrated giggle like Frank Booth) i mean to do it i’m horny you’re really nice
grady-yeah but no i’ll pass i’m waitin for my man you know there might be some good time girls on Central by 4th ask for Melva she’s cool people
riley-(pulls back looks at grady up and down) aint you a whore
grady-naw man i’m a college kid with lots of problems and lots of friends in very low and dark places (winks at riley) so get the fuck outta my face (forced smile sips ginger ale puffs at clove)
riley-(gets off bar stool as he sucks his teeth and looks grady up and down)so you think you’re better than me then huh stupid cunt
grady-(gives bouncer O’Neal the tap out look and blows kiss at riley)
fancy James Brown footwork
Last night was rough at the Cecil. I invited friends from school to party at Turkish Turi’s, but they couldn’t hang. It wasn’t cool enough. Turi was salt of the earth kinda’ people. Rough and say it like it is, but protective of the people around him.
My mother agreed to meet me on Los Angeles Street and 7th on account she wanted to buy some rugs for her house. She was in a good mood and I wanted to bond with her. It had been a few days since I was at her home. I was late to our 12:30 p.m. meeting place.
As I made my way to greet her, my head looked down, avoiding eye contact just in case she was pissed. Mother was German, punctuality was no joke. She had on a beige PONY track suit, very soft and fancy; lady like and proper. Her hair pixied and dark red like cherry wood. Her neck graceful and pale was adorned by a very thin gold chain and a blue diamond pendant Star of David.
Sitting in front of the Cecil daydreaming and sobering up; anticipating meeting with my mom, I remembered a time when I was around four. She was dressed like an angel, a Charlie’s Angel, bell bottoms, pink lips, rippling feathered hair and white boots. It was the mid 70’s, but my mom loved British rock and with a little Daniel’s in her she started grooving to T.Rex.
Lucy was happy that day, like genuinely happy, laughing and dancing and talking her German tongue to her lady friends and kinfolk. We kids never learned. Then, as I was looking for my can of apple juice, she invites me to dance. “Bang a gong, get it on, bang a gong.”
As the buses swooshed by and the vagrants were getting ticketed in vain on Main, I smiled wide. I was lapping up the memory in my head; a short chubby four year old with red patent leather Mary Janes contorting like Joe Cocker. I bent back, down and sideways, but the coup de gras was the fancy James Brown footwork I threw out there for my mom to see. I’d watch him on Soul Train when my baby sitter would come on Saturday nights.
The world felt better at 1:13 p.m. I was late, but my heart was in the right place. Lucy’s was too. The edge of skid row was my home away from home. It felt like my mother’s arms or at least what I thought her arms might have felt like. It was very unnatural to see Lucy there, so beautiful, but so sick at heart. I was more of a body guard than a daughter. She stayed in a home paid for by a man who was just like the other men who had sent many of the women I knew to exile at the Nickel. Lucy was not only a victim of my father, but her of ego as well.
my way…
last night was rough at the Cecil i invited friends from school to party at Turkish Turi’s but they couldn’t hang it wasn’t cool enough Turi was salt of the earth kinda’ people rough and say it like it is but protective of the people around him
my mother agreed to meet me on Los Angeles Street and 7th on account she wanted to buy some rugs for her house she was in a good mood and i wanted to bond with her it had been a few days since i was at her home i was late to our 12:30 pm meeting place
as i made my way to greet her my head looked down avoiding eye contact just in case she was pissed mother was German punctuality was no joke she had on a beige PONY track suit very soft and fancy lady like and proper her hair pixied and dark red like cherry wood her neck graceful and pale was adorned by a very thin gold chain and a blue diamond pendant Star of David
sitting in front of the Cecil daydreaming and sobering up anticipating meeting with my mom i remembered a time when i was around four she was dressed like an angel a Charlie’s Angel bell bottoms pink lips rippling feathered hair and white boots it was the mid 70’s but my mom loved British rock and with a little Daniel’s in her she started grooving to T.Rex
Lucy was happy that day like genuinely happy laughing and dancing and talking her German tongue to her lady friends and kinfolk we kids never learned then as i was looking for my can of apple juice she invites me to dance “Bang a gong, get it on, bang a gong”
as the buses swooshed by and the vagrants were getting ticketed in vain on Main i smiled wide i was lapping up the memory in my head a short chubby four year old with red patent leather Mary Janes contorting like Joe Cocker i bent back down and sideways but the coup de gras was the fancy James Brown footwork i threw out there for my mom to see i’d watch him on Soul Train when my baby sitter would come on Saturday nights
the world felt better at 1:13 pm i was late but my heart was in the right place Lucy’s was too the edge of skid row was my home away from home it felt like my mother’s arms or at least what i thought her arms might have felt like it was very unnatural to see Lucy there so beautiful but so sick at heart i was more of a body guard than a daughter she stayed in a home paid for by a man who was just like the other men who had sent many of the women i knew to exile at the Nickel Lucy was not only a victim of my father but her of ego as well
element
if the rust stained bones in my frame
were to ever get a chance again
to glide across the universe
look into Pandora’s jet white eyes
and smell the lighted stars
like people sniff the roses
my soul to keep i’d give away
to plug the holes
and pave new ways
for dusk to kiss the lonely hearts
for dawn to inter the bitter crop
from where my old roots are rotted
i’d be a renegade of love again
with bombs of ear drums
i would fight
to give a spot to everyone
in God’s angelic choir
if the sacred morning dew
can forgive me
for not being wide awake
in baptizing my sinful state
in the worldly river of life
reason being i was up all night
marching behind my sisters and brothers
blinded by the poisoned dark
with intent to guide them out
of their imposed upon madness
or if the maidens of the light
would prefer to bring me back
i would want to be
a lightning bolt
looking to correct
the wicked negatives of the cold hard ground
with the positives in the celestial clouds
to quench the crops of kindness
that are drying out
yet in all honesty
i’d be more than content
to come back as a rainbow colored bubble
making some kid laugh
let me count the ways
life you have this annoying way of walking by as i’m trying to see a point of view prescribed by a cold and sterile man
take today for instance i’m just whistling by on my way to the corners pungent with wet filth and frothy with human madness
every prophet will eventually go back to her house yet i am neither saint nor prophet but just a sinner looking for faith
here in front of me stands the place where we yes you my soul conscience and mind dwindled childhood away waiting for the unknown without fear bloated with arrogance
Becca’s ballad
yeah i’m still at the Gold Digger bar
past 4 am i party hard
slammin’ vodka laughin’ loud
jeans dirty scratched up arms
cigarettes all crushed and ground to the ground
i wear sweat socks with my heals
my man left me for a smack smoking whore
i’m pissed as hell and i don’t know my name
the welfare office cut off my game
during the day i beg for change
and once a month i take three trains
only to have my kids’ foster mom
cancel again
my daddy whupped me and put me on the streets
my momma left him but didn’t take me in
and the clean women from the west side
got a cold fire in their heart
at least my babies are fed
and i’m not crawlin’ on my knees
i guess i lost the social worker bet
the cops they picked me up on Tuesday
they said i was running in the street naked
i ran out of my calming pills
and my doctor said no more refills
it’s ok i understand my face’s a little dirty
my skin is really tan
the boils on my face
kinda’ turn you off
but it’s fine by me
my God above keeps watch
your stinging words against me
are flowers in my crown
i know my kids will grow up strong
and i did the best i could
the court judge calls me unresponsive
a cruel and evil ma’
he don’t know what happened
in Kentucky when i was a baby child
but it’s ok at least I have some common sense
i’d rather let my babies live
than drag them down with me
i never done nothin’ right in life
but i give thanks for my strength
and take pride in the pain
for Earl
Dear God
how are you
it’s me your creation i think
i was walking around the Skid
i felt afraid
i saw people laid out
and i noticed the pigeons
with missing little toes
feathers crushed and greasy
competing for food
i felt as if i was falling
up in a spiral a void
and the world laughed at me
chest beats hard dry mouth
look out i gotta run
and my feet became lead
30 pieces of silver
called anti-anxiety meds
Dear God
in the midst of my panic
an old black man
stood by me
you ok baby
you sho’ don’t belong heah’
then i cried and i sobbed
and i said i’m real sorry
he said is ok baby
lemme’ git you some hep’
the light it swirled
bullying me
but he was my rock
my Psalm eighteen
words less spoken 