the fusillade below my heart signaled a transformation that i hadn’t planned visions of blood fodder fingers crushing the innocence of flowers all for goodness sake further down the tunnels men bent in half praying to their shrink meanwhile ticker sounds of acreage burning does Herod have a bodyguard and the soup kitchen has run out of toe tags can we breath the breeze of ancient orange one last time before the refugees of peace become the next on your waiting list of morally inclined to do whatever to fit into the culture of the day
DTLA
Christmas Eve 93′
hot chocolate candy canes almond cookies apple wine
red bra black leather pants black stilettos two blue eyes
one green eye hazel on the left scratches cuts and bruises
he wonders how she got em’ but too afraid to ask
instead he holds her tighter cus in the end she’s always gone
in the middle of the night he gets up pees and scratches his ass
just big boy that no bride could tie down
she slightly opens up her mouth gaping like a baby bird
and he sneaks quietly into her arms catches a whiff of patchouli from her hair
two wet paper winged angels just hoping for some love
recusants you and i
night drive slow speed
body tired windows bleed
city light a million times
soul sucker dynamite
blare the sin out from below
steel cold brick you sunk me
my fingers crooked now
with the countdown of this town
but don’t underestimate
the heart mine least of all
look me in the silence of that eye
i dare you to deny
that after you’ve torn
us both down
spit on our ancient right
that a tree of force will not emerge
from where my human blood’s been shed
from where my love everlasting powerful
and pure will for all of time
triumph over you
and our perversions
purple petals
when i was a teen girl
i had a teen boy lover
he was broken like James Dean
and like Brando a real bad ass mutherfucker
he kissed with a platinum tongue
as we walked along the Venice sand
he’d get into fights
all bloody and bruised
but we still caught the moonlight
sucking on the booze
we’d fuck until we couldn’t walk
not because of sex or anything
but because of all the glue we huffed
those were wild times
in the eyes of other people
to a punk skater kid
of broken inner spirit
the life style was his fort
me i was just a wanna be
looking for a Trojan Horse
to leave this solar system far behind
by sixteen i’d been dead so many times
and had gotten taken advantage of by force
all because of it
Blaine with the dirty blonde mohawk
my only refuge that boy was
we swore our love
with Sharpie marker anarchy tattoos
and shared pizza crusts
from the dumpsters down on Zephyr
at night we’d find some Gypsy camp
and howl unto the face of angels
howling at the moon just seemed so trite
but when we’d look in each other’s eyes
there were no stars in them
like with the Montagues’ and Capulets’
just an existential escape past our sullied souls
knowing that we had no plan
just living for the day
no flowers in my hair
no money for the Goddamned fare
from desperation blvd. to hole ave.
just me and Blaine alone together
simultaneous fear and madness punching in the air
we lived like Cohen and the Beats
the Velvets and Andy and Billy Name
we talked about fascism and Ollie and the gang
La Revolucion y El Che
we talked about other times
his aunt Myrtle’s minced meat pie
Constantinople and even Hemingway
he read about the Bolsheviks
while i adored Bukowski
he slept in the LA Central Library
on my bony dirty lap
one of the most beautiful
and sacred memories of my life
was my chipped fingernail polish
fingers picking out two tiny
purple flower petals
from his gentle baby hair crown
aerial was i
twilight is a little jagged
rays of Sun’s arms
tremble as Earth opens his
blue doors to her
the marriage bed set
and i’m growing my wings
to fly in the mocha of the night
he beckons my common senses
and i dive into a certain
constructed abyss
my back it labors
as the vestiges
of alabaster hued flight
carries my sins away
then just as quickly
as the virgin blossoms
my wings disappear
into the waking Sun
her face beaming with hope
and as night and i
we go our different ways
my back rested
city aflame
my life clean slated
soul light as a feather
a prodigal’s tithe
i bring forth a gift
humble but frail in its heart
gratitude for life
never too young for T Leary
Home was cold and lonely. Waverly had gone away for the holidays with her family. I hadn’t bonded with anyone at school. I wanted hot cocoa and warm pajamas, ginger bread men cookies and a Christmas tree with glass ornaments in 1985. I wasn’t going to get it. So I bussed it to Chinatown, scored and got a bag of stale fortune cookies.
I thought about going to the Cecil and dropping there, but I didn’t want to be lectured by the old lady on the first floor. Florida was the cleaning lady she had worked the docks in San Pedro during WWII as a steel worker. Bent and grey she would polish the walnut sticks of furniture sparsely laid out.
The walk from Broadway to the park on Plaza Olvera was calm in spite of the screaming bitch called traffic. I didn’t mind. I was trailing and smiling. As always, invisible to the eyes of the world but never to my city.
I sat following the giant furry beasts that seemed to engulf the people with multiple hands and faces. Deep blues and the oranges were never more orange. The sounds of people talking or laughing were vague, but I understood the strands of human energy feeding the cosmic realm set to take off into the sky.
The Pio Pico Building sat there quiet in the chaos of the mariachi music and the stop and go low riders booming the likes of Grand Master Flash and Run DMC. Then a mirror suited man walked up to me muttering sounds and wearing a huge red dot on his nose. Thousands of me’s exploded like shrapnel landing in the pupils of my eyes.
It took an eon or two, but I finally directed him to the train depot. Satellite man gave me a balloon dog. The dog was red and the heads and tails and every little knot fanned into dozens as fireworks dazzled from my finger tips. I felt alone in the sea of people, I felt cold frozen fire under me as the Aztec dancers circled about their worshiped sun it was all the same to him.
Time moved with grace like a swan in a lake. I thought about my father and how he taught me how to shoot a gun and a rifle and how to box and use a knife. Years later I found out that it wasn’t because he wanted me to be well rounded he was just disappointed I was a girl. He was really very disappointed and I was very lost. I needed a dad. I wasn’t sure how I felt about women. My mom was tough on me. She expressed numerous times how useless I was and even wished death a few times.
I feared women; they hurt your heart tore your spirit into nothing, fucked around with your brain. Men hurt me physically. I felt like I could at least fight back, scratch or kick something. I couldn’t hurt a woman.
my way…
home was cold and lonely Waverly had gone away for the holidays with her family i hadn’t bonded with anyone at school i wanted hot cocoa and warm pajamas ginger bread men cookies and a Christmas tree with glass ornaments in 1985 i wasn’t going to get it so i bussed it to Chinatown scored and got a bag of stale fortune cookies
i thought about going to the Cecil and dropping there but i didn’t want to be lectured by the old lady on the first floor Florida was the cleaning lady she had worked the docks in San Pedro during WWII as a steel worker bent and grey she would polish the walnut sticks of furniture sparsely laid out
the walk from Broadway to the park on Plaza Olvera was calm in spite of the screaming bitch called traffic i didn’t mind i was trailing and smiling as always invisible to the eyes of the world but never to my city
i sat following the giant furry beasts that seemed to engulf the people with multiple hands and faces deep blues and the oranges were never more orange the sounds of people talking or laughing were vague but i understood the strands of human energy feeding the cosmic realm set to take off into the sky
the Pio Pico Building sat there quiet in the chaos of the mariachi music and the stop and go low riders booming the likes of Grand Master Flash and Run DMC then a mirror suited man walked up to me muttering sounds and wearing a huge red dot on his nose thousands of me’s exploded like shrapnel landing in the pupils of my eyes
it took an eon or two but i finally directed him to the train depot satellite man gave me a balloon dog the dog was red and the heads and tails and every little knot fanned into dozens as fireworks dazzled from my finger tips i felt alone in the sea of people i felt cold frozen fire under me as the Aztec dancers circled about their worshiped sun it was all the same to him
time moved with grace like a swan in a lake i thought about my father and how he taught me how to shoot a gun and a rifle and how to box and use a knife years later i found out that it wasn’t because he wanted me to be well rounded he was just disappointed i was a girl he was really very disappointed and i was very lost i needed a dad i wasn’t sure how i felt about women my mom was tough on me she expressed numerous times how useless i was and even wished death a few times
i feared women they hurt your heart tore your spirit into nothing fucked around with your brain men hurt me physically i felt like i could at least fight back scratch or kick something i couldn’t hurt a woman
an LA woman
im no different
i too bleed
i too drink
i too breath
i too think
i too speak
i can wear
a suit and
shiny diamond rings
i can fuck
a woman or
a man if
i want when
i want there
is plenty to
go around in
this town i
can steal beg
borrow die live
catch a disease
have a cock
sewn on or
my pussy stitched
shut i can
love and hate
worship and sin
i get tickets
and big debt
i can write
and wait tables
sell the story
make you cry
or laugh depending
on how i
feel about it
i too can
show passion for
the things that
make society gag
i can figure
things out for
myself and buy
a house and
marry three men
i can walk
the streets alone
very late at
night and see
the children writhing
engulfed in their
pain euphoric to
the all great
equalizer who comes
when she wants
only and claims
those who have
had no time
i can watch
sit back relax
or run scared
out of my
head from the
boogey man or
woman you can
be just as
oppressive baby don’t
tell me no
look in my
eyes my queen
i give you
a description of
your cloudy soul
i can fight
but there are
some things that
i will die
for and won’t
think twice about
it my freedom
my voice and
right to be
me not a
victim or a
trophy i refuse
to be shackled
by diagnosis political
label or join
the sorority of
hypocrisy and vanity
yes i am
a woman free
now i understand
when i got
called rock headed
it served to
break that glass
ceiling and shoot
me to the
infinate frontier of
my own agency
my own democracy
i follow my
drum and i
will share all
with my sisters
but i will
never apologize for
who i am
how i am
what i am
why i love
when i go
where i stand
in this anthem
i proclaim equality
baseless essence
mirrors slates to the eyes
cold blood hot cries
in the forests of wires
camping for leisure
in soul of one who
was once a beauty
now the dump
they along with the trash
typhus and the brass pipes
in the underground
akin to the bony
once strong legs
of our fathers
stones from her river
are epoxy sold in bags
at the mostly made in China
flower and craft shops
we and they still people
we are flesh
twenty nine doors down
we also have botulism
to soothe the angst
of those whose spirits
have been mislead
to look inside the slate
and not see
the true worth of their inner glow
atheist riot
warm Sunday
City Hall lawn
young people
bright yellow
biker shorts
we too
sit there
moving slowly
watching smiling
at the
busy gnats
we drank
sour beer
sharing one
warm can
that took
three hours
to buy
our sisters
a yard
away talking
and pouting
smacking lips
laying out
their tired
patchwork skirts
they twirl
bottle cap
rosaries between
their stained
fingers etched
with cuts
and cracks
the brothers
coming out
of trance
acknowledge that
nothing here
will change
too many
men on
the job
too many
brains and
greedy wallets
planning our
fate and
we all
look up
at the
trumpeting birds
and we
rise in
arthritic waves
even though
were under
thirty one
and in
a hallelujah
arm stretch
above our
messy heads
our sisters
break out
in harmony
as their
washed out
bone bleached
bracelets jangle
snapping fingers
send a
thanks to
the heavens
the brothers
do a
little dance
and onlookers
stop to
stare with
smirking eyes
and jaded
quips against
the humble
family on
the lawn
who can
only address
God outside
of hypocritical
sanctimonious walls
words less spoken 