stillness mutes the heart
actions speak louder than words
yet words turn the keys
beg to differ
DTLA
dry ice cold
waking up in a curtained hospital emergency room a few hours later felt like the mist of dry ice cold lonely i wasn’t sure if i was shivering out of fear anger or because i was in need of a fix quietly i began to pull IVs out of my scratched scrawny arms but then was foiled by the noisy Mexican nurse coming in to check on me “oh little missy you shouldn’t do that here just relax and the doctor will be right in ok” she stuck me back in the arms as she smiled wide and exaggerated like a jester i resented her calling me ‘missy’ but i figured she was just doing it to be friendly after all there was no way in hell she enjoyed patching up half dead carcasses coming in during grave yard at County Emergency she had that normal all-American positive vibe pretty and middle aged “what time is it ma’am” i strained a dry rasp “it’s 5:49 am honey listen there’s a detective talking to your doctor right now they’ll come in to see you soon do you need anything some water or tea” asked my nurse as she smiled at me this time like Carmen Zapata from the 70’s kid’s show ‘Villa Alegre’ where i learned some Spanish when i was a foster kid i wanted to take refuge in her normal all-American positive vibe as i started feeling queasy and shaky again lying on the gurney with my thighs and insides on fire a lava lamp-like panic began unraveling
this whole again
1. on the edge life sits
2. the sky orange with tinge
3. of the progress by man
4. if we tilt we lose footing
5. if we bend we lose grace
6. the compromise too great
7. so we sit unknowingly
8. but not silent
9. fingers say our words
10. our tongues no longer needed
11. my body moulded by ballots
12. but what of the soul
13. a spirit cracked
14. where the better angels
15. how to make
16. this whole again
in essence
around here we radiate from the inside
we laugh because crying would mean shedding and giving out
with laughter we bring breath in
around here the afterwinter doesn’t fully unfold
yet the night and day in mid summer dreams can be very cold and far away
a never ending road of rocks and thistle
around here we build and tear down when it becomes necessary
in essence we always build
around here time does not matter and the Constitution is a gamble
cautionary haiku
we believe blindly
the sedated coxcombry
rise from specious sleep
don’t want marching saints no more
I don’t smoke anymore. I don’t pay attention anymore. I don’t do much anymore. Anymore matters not to anyone. It’s been about two weeks. There is a foggy dream pricking at my waking reality. There is a politeness as to not give away who I am, and who we are, and what we are not made of. Orion’s Belt has lost another Queen Sister. Look up, see? The castle shines less than it did about fourteen days ago.
Sitting next to me, he, young and professional talked to you about developing a plan for hope. Sitting next to me, your cracked yellowed fingers, stiff like frankincense resin, shuffled through your last official systematic memoir, but he and I didn’t know. Did you know? Or did you know you couldn’t go on? Your blue framed reading glasses made of plastic were spotty and needed a scrub. Your skin ashy and hair matted into a bun, those fingers searching for that someone who told you that you were fine so that we could tell you too
We met on St. Valentine’s, you tried with all of your might on St. Habet-Deus and laid yourself to rest on St. Alvaro’s soiree. Yet, when the old timer hard core practicing apostles hailed St. Polycarp, I stood looking at the west atop the building’s nest with my back to your door sealed by the authorities of science and service.
2 5 1 C
today was a good day
i thought i heard jazz was coming back to LA
its not the be bopping of the choking addict that i mind
or the thumping clacking of the garbage trucks
somehow the sweating forehead of a trumpet player
is far more joyous than me sweating the long wait at the midnight taxi out front in the downtown bar
i can’t wait for the story tellers to be bold
to pluck and beat and tickle pink the ivory teeth of a piano in 2 5 1 C
rock bottom
Las muchachas
mock the bird
in walking Kadapul petals fall to coat my steps
but really they’re just dirty leaves
as my daydreams waft into another direction
there is a certain equalizer in knowing
something comes this way and we all feel it
thoughts crumble upon the upward pounding of my feet
instinct against the grain
follow through with the maps in my head
stop and wave at a child and her puppy
another block and sun does shine
a mother talks a husband hounds
from his sitting family
‘what do you want to drink’
with coffee in left hand
passer bys ignore me
i blend into the posted centennial wall
the one by the bronze pig heads
and the bike racks rented by the Metro line
death mask faces reflected in mine
our wrinkles in the old and young
mock the bird silhouettes of our sky
our return in trying to make sense of our lives
words less spoken 