a feather

back in the day of orange koolaid and Brady Bunch dreams candy cotton and carburetors diamonds pills and fancy ladies the news and no direct tomorrow TV dinners multiplex sorrows mop top slinky singer crooned in silky voice to the effect of time having no patience but i don’t blame those frigid tocking ticker arms because i’m a slow floating feather from a city bird molting from the Eiffel Tower statue sitting on any trinket shelf on Hollywood boulevard and through the fibers of the strain i struggle float away slowly in a deafening rage tickling the balls of all those who pose to be the royal peacock

stone

a line followed not straight feet hollowed out by the bumps of life

a beat heard faintly like a radio sign from outer space on a kids ham radio

intuition dimmed heavy without direction like broken jade frowning atop the china cabinet

a kiss blown by aging beauty queens to the princess up and coming

young girl twirling on a pole old man staring at her bones she thinks of tea sets and raggedy Ann doll he thinks of the life he once so loved who is buried six feet under

the flowers radiant pinks and red stems green and full of life across a dirty street i sooth dry skin and raise my glass to Martha

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

hesitant

it doesn’t seem so long ago

that i smoked some cloves

was listening to the Pogues

and drifted into some world war

that i’ve only seen in film

over at Grauman’s Chinese theater

my blues are turning black

and though i opted out of methadone

it never meant that i was strong

will i ever say farewell and laser off the scars

of the circumstances of our battles

at two i’m getting up to pee

the midnight birds are wrapping up

the roosters will shortly crow their song

across the street with the old Japanese couple

i like to think that yesterday’s gash was really a fluke

but the book teaches that we must be quite honest

not being responsible enough to make a decision

i straighten out the linen closet instead

until the sun washes away my pain with her golden arms of fire

yearning in code

breath

silent

sweet whisper

cooed inside dreams

honey veins the sting

it comes on spurts of hot

metal polish in the blood

wolfram exploding in the night

thinly necked liquid sand holy grail

near blue Nirvana send me off to sleep

stella mori

universe so dark

just like in my room tonight

stars so far away

a conversation

i remember that garage

atop of the Echo Park hill

pretty in spring

bikes built to thrill

now my hands empty

mind full of memories

that fueled my entire life

the end nears by

we come close now to the station

we could never use words

only cryptic sensations

what sets me apart from the Godly

she asks

i can’t forgive what’s been done

i explain

all that is left

are two daughters

and a conjoint broken heart

desperado

when the armor sheds

and the spirit is bare

he likes to sit on a swing

legs spread across the grass

thighs dangling between heaven and earth

he doesn’t have to plot

on how to bear the brunt of sin

when the struggle rises yet again

instead yonder down by the willow trees

the children playing hide and seek

remind him of when he was a kid

teetering between his mother’s hallowed hand

and the inevitable curse of becoming a man

shoreline

the nutty wafts of kelp breeze

wrap around my body

looking at the waves they crash

the little crabs shake

their tiny pinchers at them

they all just laugh  

their foamy locks behind them

my fingers remind me

that i’m digging in the sand

i smile on my left side

two young lilac gulls screech

over some meaty mussels

my attention zooms in at the ferris wheel

closing my eyes

subtle waves of nauseous panic come

but you’re gone

your arms not there to hold me

your lips can not whisper

your hungry desires in my ear

your wandering finger tips caressing

the nipples on my breasts

as i whispered i want you

we both laughed

the piercings in your lips

they caught my hair

we clasped tattooed hands

the deepness in your voice

only for me

subtle wind moans

only to be cut by youthful laughter

holding my knees

those demons prick at me

your notes didn’t answer my questions

pour toi, Charlie

the cattails sway slow

resin sun settles down deep

she has blazed all day

moon in silver comes

knocking at my back window

dig his Elvis suit

then E Piaf croons

tears brim in my tired eyes

never did i miss

you so much as i

do now even with all of

our misunderstood

way of saying words

to drive each other away

fearing that our hearts

would be ripped apart

by anemic attempts to

share a normal life

you the older one

did not necessarily

know best i was young

i did not know that

fucking my way through real love

in time would never

heal our broken parts

still not all was a failure

truth and wine reveal