Taino el de abajo

the room is sterile

free from any love germ

only the tiny beasts of whatever

perfect in nature are adored here

in this sterile cold dry room

my gut told me

“She passed.”

referring to the death of an aunt

i hardly knew

i don’t feel grief

not yet

and

as i explained to my-self

some people might never feel it

to mourn loss is difficult

to mourn loss of a loved one is hard

to mourn for and carry a heavy heart for an enemy

is tougher

i don’t feel such loss for the masculine things in life

as i do for the feminine

to have had a physical mother

never to have experienced an emotional mother

or spiritual mother

has been loss

yielding veils of survival

darning lies as i went along

because for this ride

you must be tough

to have had to rip my addiction demons

from me without a cowboy’s hickory stick

to bite on

while all of Murphy’s laws

chose to shred themselves

has left a raw gaping hole

in my crippled soul

yet there is a certain life-long journey

a chipping away of the spirit

the grief polishes

nearly to transparency and vulnerability

that fake shine as seen on t.v.

we can certainly fight

for all our lives

against this erosion

but we will not win

in my age

i can now see

the entirety of who Taino was

what he meant to me

i could not

in my youth

see that deeply yet

*dedicated to Jose Montoya POET

finally relieved

my sister later said
that when mother left
the tears on her velvet cheeks
were like lily petals
time has passed
on most days when
i notice myself in the mirror
memories of her voice and sorrow
crowds my day 
by eve’s time
sitting alone on the porch
some plump flying angel
will rustle up the honey suckle
and a vision of mother i can feel
quiet resting finally relieved

into consideration

i write this to myself
because i don’t know about forgiveness
it hurts too much
to still have to bend that far back
in my secret life
i am the hatchet undertaker
bury hatchets under buried bodies Beth and Devereaux say
but for how much longer
life has passed me like birds
silently looking nowhere
only forward
wings rigid
pushing away
from the skies above my head
that bird super highway
and when i can tear my eyes from the smokey heavens
my feet tired as they are like lead  can sense the cool soft caressing clover down beneath the holy patch of Earth
regret from my hatchet burial pulley
begs me to take into consideration that some hatchets transform into boomerangs too

blue steel

i’m feelin’ like a blue steel gun

with my fine determined sharp lines

my edges separate the somethin’ from the nothin’

and the come-hither handlin’ parts

sleek momma eye candy deluxe

making genitalia of all denomination shape and size

feel like a super daddy fuckin’ stud

i’m feeling like a blue steel gun

caught between your palm and thumb

a dialysis rig for your bad juice blood

my nuts bolts springs and inner workin’s

the physics and reasons in me aching

of no interest to you your heart or your mind

i’m feelin’ like a blue steel gun

remember in that case where you found me

promises dowries certificated truths

stroking of the barrels looking into soot

my trigger and your raging accusin’ fingers

you offered as my wedding band

i’m feelin’ like a blue steel gun

cast out after years of deeds gone wrong

silent spitting fire of your tongue

looking out my winda’ late at night

wonderin’ why you are the way you are

we chameleons tempering our feelin’s

showcased on a devil’s iron eye

cus we’re both rusted raw on the inside

cooing sounds of city pigeons

January

cold restless

eyes opened

limbs clasped tight into the womb of the donated forest green love seat

two suns and one absent moon ago

there you were in faded cotton gown

bleach rough by the sanitation bound

gasping and heaving

not too different

to the cooing sounds

of city pigeons

i never thought that you would go

as i expected that you were fighting

now

so much time has rushed on

and late tonight

while i write this for you

i wonder

were you crossing the Styx

neck deep

tell me

does that river ebb and flow

like your spirit and your soul

is the current soft

do the little waves embrace your ankles

like precious jewels

time split the light in two

we both took in your make up bag

i the incorrigible one

mumbled unsanctified Kaddish

not finding the words

no matter

YHWH had cupped

broken and trite utterances

from my mouth

great Grady’s ghost!

it happened in slow motion lightning fast simultaneously laughing gas i crawled like a cheetah at the break neck speed of a snail that’s all i can think of i remember it was 4:44 am and i needed to go to thee room not any room thee room people were sitting on plastic chairs orange yellow green like an artificial fruit salad outside of the Macy’s window circa 1936 there were little speakers on the ceiling with little mesh coverings like those that cover the shower drainage holes i thought i might have been walking on the bathtub floor laughing gas they said and further down the hall there were ashtrays big tall cylinders with a silver topping and sand and butts yellow butts put out i could see the name brands on them Menthol Kools Marlboro Winston Camel and then there were big cigar pieces i don’t know what you might have called them i was just a kid i remember seeing tiny little Dixie cups inside of the telephone booths and there they would be those little cups with blue and yellow flowers and the name Dixie i guess that’s where people stash their pills i also remember the phones being off the hook buzzing and buzzing and buzzing and i imagine an old woman on the left hand side middle booth cream dress church hat white wiry hair crystal green eyes and dead lips she stared at me like a frog i look down i know who she was once we passed across the hall there was a war survivors and i peeked and i saw a room full of gurneys men mostly black men with bloody bandages somewhere missing legs and then from my right ear i could hear an invisible body that sounded like they were from Texas white harsh hateful yelling at the top of this lungs to be taken out of that room he didn’t particularly like being with the coloreds i had never seen something like that the laughing gas they say the laughing gas and further down the hall no yellow brick road my hair wild frizzy intertwined with a piece of bubblegum right in the middle but they didn’t know and i didn’t tell it was strawberry i believe later that night with my tiny little left hand i recall pulling it out the pain made me feel down to earth although i don’t know what was happening to me i had little hands finally we reached our destination the nurse lifted me up and while she carried me for about 4 seconds and sat me on my gurney i remember seeing my little gown pink with little yellow teddy bears my little thighs were bloody i don’t know why i could feel my nose being crusty and no one in the room was my relative no one in the room was anything other than a wage-earner no one in the room was anything more then a team of let’s put them back together again the laughing gas the laughing gas they sing

purgatory

time appears to have gone on forever and there is a big chunk of me whatever i am that has not changed on this day a very long time ago i was granted permission to come into this world to a big city that is just made of legend i learned very quickly that when the sun went down we all bled shit sleep fought hated just like each other no big difference not from the next city over not from the next country over and probably not from other planets today that old cautionary statement we only live above our demons but we never get rid of them swirls in my head i confess at times i don’t know how i think how i see things i don’t even know sometimes if i believe in pain emotional spiritual physical i don’t know the difference at times what does it feel like to be without pain does it feel the same as being in pain don’t know so here i am back at the Cecil Hotel right where i have always been obviously not in body but in soul sometimes when there is no one around to question the fuck out of me and why my face looks or doesn’t look how they want it to look that particular day i wonder am i a ghost i wonder have i been reincarnated i wonder when i look up and down Broadway and Main to the left or to the right and then i look up and turn around and i look at empty shells of buildings where gargoyles used to be decorations masonry ballrooms perhaps so much and then there will be a particular window that enraptures my eyes and i can’t look away and if i squint my third eye i swear i can see her young dark hair big green brown eyes i don’t know what her name would have been maybe Hazel maybe Dorothy who knows not a modern name and then when my third eye blinks she jumps

pieces of LA dream

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