dawn she comes to knock on my window like room service the same time every day
i found myself floating on a cloud with a pink hounds tooth pattern covered ironing board
on it one of L Cohen’s suits and through the little poofy clouds Motley Crüe played girls girls girls that sounded an awful lot like so long Marianne
earlier during the dark part of the 24 hours i could not sleep nor did i want to so i bought some fancy eye cream to hide those saggy violet rings
i try to journal certain things that need goodbyes but it’s not that easy i’d be writing my fingers right down to a stub
life is funny how she crouches like a tiger and pounces when least expected like when i stained my bed sheets with menstrual blood that one time and i was sad and angry for months because it was a loss a woman never really heals from
then one starts to think about the turnips on sale and how i should have bought some but at least i got my baby broccoli so i’ll survive
dawn paves the way for morning with Chai tea and a triple espresso chaser i start to stare again out of the window of the room but today i will be ready for the sneaky tigers
the dream menu comes it’s passed around to random strangers as we zig zag through the 2nd street tunnel lined with ceramic tile once virgin white now black as desert sky my favorite graffiti walls cryptic messages like seven bones in my life i’ve only broken 8 we are used to this air nose hairs full of stuff a little boy picks at his scabs and momma holds his cup the number 81 to Eagle Rock plaza goes but we’re not ready for the home bound road instead i cruise ball heel toe over to Grand Central and order a cheese pupusa that i don’t eat and don’t know why i bought from the corner of the eye i see the three delicious ones with mint julep eye lashes calling each other a dirty trollop after a few search engine insults trollop Sassy Ass #1 goes to the ladies washroom to turn back the hands of time on her five o’clock shadow she says Adam’s apple gliding up and down i lose interest quickly as i smell a puff of clove and delay the inevitable loneliness of thought by joining the awe and admiration of booth A23 and their giant Jack fruit bowl a delicacy for the valiant but not for me today and i begin to miss Walt Whitman even though he’s never met me and Lash Larue movies on Sunday afternoon when life was very simple like begonias in the sun with the savory lure of schnitzel and Ute Lemper singing songs
The walls spun around as the grains of steamed rice rolled off the table top like drops of mercury. Asian ladies watched in slow motion as thick moisture atop my brow trickled into a stream. My mouth parched and cottony could no longer pass air through my teeth to form words. I used my eyes to find contact, to cry for help. Nothing. Just stares. The breezes coming through to cool down the sweaty wanderers in the buzzing basement had now spun into typhoon winds crashing into my body.
Guatemalan gawkers and Salvy breast touchers hovered over my limp body laid out in crucifix formation on the concrete floor.
nina, are you okay?” said one Oaxacan with a blinking Bluetooth on his left ear.
my head laid, I could see the plastic bags filled with pea green plantains,
shrimp and Jose Cuervo. One woman with thick legs and a large camel toe bent
over me, almost in a bowing formation. I thought I was saved.
Rafa, coll de fire meinz, andale!!” She belted out as she turned her great ass
toward my face and the light went out.
No one read
minds. Had someone known that my chest was imploding and my soul hovered above
me playing poker with John Fante, they would have called for help much sooner.
as a babe i was
never the tender one in the infancy of the developing footsteps of the mind i was
just a soldier trained and not raised for raising would mean a coup at some
point i was rather just a little girl kid lost on the floor of Grand Central
Market amongst the watch towers of produce foxholes of spices grenades of chow mein
and old man coffee napalm Kurtz was at every corner and my bayonet still could
never hook the salmon filets embalming in the smoky mist of downtown bus
pollution of course not being an heir of Grant or Lee i fell back in the back
of most everything but my duty was not to keep score but rather lead the budding
anarchy of my Phoenixian heart
came on the wave of
breathes of revelers
on designer swine
never seen a soul so simple
in coffee intertwined she
of your affections
disappointed that she wasn’t
to New York and how those
blue ones scowled at her
rest assured that my face
betrayed the offers
to me at our cafe
a moment of nothing
I thought I was something
your words filled with emptiness