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
Grieving
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
