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
it used to be that brown or black eyes were the abysmal of magical beauty and blues were sparkling pools of Narcissus’ soul staring back at me today i walk slow aimlessly sipping pretending to be comfortable and care free but it’s only procrastination to my left bumper stickers promising green utopia for all to my right oceans deep with human carnage strewn and labeled social crisis the caucused trumped up rallies won’t heal my broken brothers and if i’m not careful the depth of my wavering human decency could quickly shallow up
warm Sunday
City Hall lawn
young people
bright yellow
biker shorts
we too
sit there
moving slowly
watching smiling
at the
busy gnats
we drank
sour beer
sharing one
warm can
that took
three hours
to buy
our sisters
a yard
away talking
and pouting
smacking lips
laying out
their tired
patchwork skirts
they twirl
bottle cap
rosaries between
their stained
fingers etched
with cuts
and cracks
the brothers
coming out
of trance
acknowledge that
nothing here
will change
too many
men on
the job
too many
brains and
greedy wallets
planning our
fate and
we all
look up
at the
trumpeting birds
and we
rise in
arthritic waves
even though
were under
thirty one
and in
a hallelujah
arm stretch
above our
messy heads
our sisters
break out
in harmony
as their
washed out
bone bleached
bracelets jangle
snapping fingers
send a
thanks to
the heavens
the brothers
do a
little dance
and onlookers
stop to
stare with
smirking eyes
and jaded
quips against
the humble
family on
the lawn
who can
only address
God outside
of hypocritical
sanctimonious walls
by the river
there’s a path
i bring her
coffee in the
morning and tell
her what the
day will task
at road’s end
i find her
home with little
dead flowers by
the door of
her secret world
no one sees
her no one
knows there are
many others that
walk through it
alone and never
say a single word
they smile and
sing and pray
the most melodious
and magic noises
from two toothless
lips do come
the black sparkle
in her eyes
uplifts the sting
in my own
pain as she
croons just for
me darlin’ never
lose your light
coming out from the
wilderness to witness sky
pewters and silvers God’s
reaching to me i
hear a broken whisper
sliding down the rays
of blessed light night
waiting to spread her
wings over the trees
that will house His
knowledge gifted to us
the summer is what it is here
the humidity clinging to my tired skin
like a crazy 50’s t.v. wife mockery
on Wall there’s the law and then there’s us
each side with glaring mutual understanding
that nothing is being done
no longer angels no longer devils
Gods gone fishing and they won’t be coming back
the species of Adam failed to keep their end of the
Covenant with Noah and Jesus holy shit what have we done
in life there is reason and there’s law
inside the soul there is right and there is wrong
inside the ego all is mine and nothing yours
on Koehler there is a man who doesn’t know he suffers
the fear he knows not himself prisoner of
the bio-hazardous ecosystem freedom gone awry
the filth the human shit the rage the insanity disease
the pain addiction poverty starvation piss trash
tears the waste of modern time
no longer get through the stains of a life
poorly lived or sorely wasted no logic
no feelings no rhyming no Kingdom will come
betwixt the cardboard and the shelter
the damage has been done
wage on me wage your wars
indifference is your nuclear weapon
when the dirt on my shoes
starts to click the pavement
i go to the park
pray to the squirrels
bow to the trashcan
gambling that at the bottom
will be a half eaten idea
that i can sell
when the anger in my soul
starts to pound out my heart
i go to that tent
beg to the man
bow to the pipe
give away the music in my bones
for a hope that i will stop the pain
when there is a nowhere and no rainbow
and my shadow trades places with me
i go in my head
get lost in the wave
of no way out symphonies
so i turn in for the day
to welcome in the tepid night
and wait for that clicking to begin
scorched concrete broken bottles
bus fare not enough rain comes
huddle in the mass of 300 cots cries for help
a man is lost behind himself he now sees
in front of him are wading genteel lakes
his hands metaphorically cut off at the wrist
closing his eyes he dreams of hills
opening them again he seeks to seal a reality
that comes in colors mainly blues and blacks
his mind aloof with a potion of castles in a foreign land
where the weather is gentle and his feet kiss the sand
in the banks of a river holding the dusking sky
number 48 is called to sit at the chair
we don’t have room for you try back next week
he looks down and looks up again
out of the building to sidewalks of pain
three blocks from Wall street
the birds start to sing the river is placid
the hills are rolling skies are all yawning
the fire she roars inside of the castle a new king explores
divided
the freeway born from the night womb into father mourning
time
atrophic heart of mine trouble beating an eternity waiting for
you
to come find me lost on the path of poet
madness
valley heat hungry eyes salty tears still trusting in love
-for Beatle John
words less spoken 