time what is it really just illusions how can one waste what is a lie just a mist in a dark cold swamp a little village of my mind it sits there and wallows remembering memories that never happened like kisses from my mother i have full control when the birds sing time what is it exactly me thinks of time as the breath of the gods the heartbeat of the mermaids the haircut shavings of the gnomes in the forest deep green cool moldy forest located in the left side of my heart untouched by time still waiting still haunting time
GoDogGo Cafe Writing Prompt
freed
she thrived optimally when lost in LA
salty sassy loose and Catholic tube top wearing even on cold days
mother of three husband gone missing foul play by the finest in town
she talked back and took what you had with scorn and laughs
yet in the sun light at the plaza when traffic is quiet beggars and convicts safe in their bags
she fed the pigeons ever so delicately threw breadcrumbs at them not like a DiMaggio but like a Pavlova
then they were fed no more
in my world

when the demons of solitude and fear set in i then realized that the bread crumbs were all gone where are You
hindsight
choice of youth
she tasted of memory
Selma ave where i fought a fight
bloody knuckles injured eye
it didn’t have to happen
but to drink my life away i made the choice in May
pain she’s tricky and eludes my reason at times
i’m left unto myself a sobbing child and so swinging back in madness
dignity falls down there is no count to tell
long gone are days of curbside medics looking for a score
safe behind a dignified door of comfort now with flagellating thoughts
if i could do it all again
LA girls can channel A. Ginsberg too C19/2020
their bodies as tired as my mind are a conglomerate of recycler rim shop churches and everything is gated and stifled as the spirit of the child i’m looking for chain link fences rent free beautification of Western Avenue top $ cash paid open we buy metal Medicare Part D appears almost as much as “Jesus Saves” i’m in on all of these treasures that no one takes the time to look at i still cannot find my girl i always stop at 13 seconds i ask
Iglesia cristiana el remanente fiel testimonial Cathedral and Christian school Church of God in Christ iglesia pentecostés primer amor next to the color TV by RCA motel that is open 24 hours Sermon on the Mount Bronco motel on the corner of Western and 55th United African church marked up by the 55 kids crew and all the horny husbands whose wives are left alone demand a price menu for my most exquisite lipsnight flows cold nerves exploded at the tips Chinese laundry out to dry the sky the stars turn off one by one and birds are sinking under mud blue gods of the century turn west and all along the mountain lightning stops to cry the purple mud dies on the day of war maroon worms climb up no legions loom and the resurrection is postponed because of my ignorance
that is cast over the horizon of sanity
and the expectations of the rules
these chains are only invisible
and a prayer will break them through
the secret in plain view
in front of those scared eyes
the more decent we become
the harder they will come
truth continues to stay stuck
3000 years ago
evolution in an isotope
is not the way i go
in other news
rain pitter patters on the window if i look hard enough i can see tiny cat nose triangles and pomegranate shaped paw prints and another angel died
the high school music class saxophone huffs through into my room and the virtual eight grade students cheap ass marijuana wafts in too while another angel dies
the mayor explains how critical the strain is on the county and how we hold hands and fight from our couch as another angel died
the smell of my books and the pills that i took colors of my mind are tired and somber angels dying left and right
ventilators generators procreators thieves and hope beauty mud Your Kingdom come and another angel died
and if i make it past this trip i’ll still click on channel blank brains and angels will still die
truth hurts
a broken trail of rotted crumbs was what i followed
leading to your golden bed too good to be truth
it all began with that voice i heard beautifully harmonious
when i realized wicked lies came from your poet’s lips
one day in January
hush she coos
the west is nearing
the sky leaves sullen traces
angels weep a tepid rain over
graves of stoney colored flowers too wounded to proceed wherein
animals
you gray eyes dripping
dangerous thoughts i am woman
we just want a bite
patience
with warm scarlet tears
she sits sometimes she glances
rosebuds slowly yawn