so
the
dark
came
rapid
stinging
in
a
flash
gone
but
you
took
my
name
Homeless Women
mock the bird
in walking Kadapul petals fall to coat my steps
but really they’re just dirty leaves
as my daydreams waft into another direction
there is a certain equalizer in knowing
something comes this way and we all feel it
thoughts crumble upon the upward pounding of my feet
instinct against the grain
follow through with the maps in my head
stop and wave at a child and her puppy
another block and sun does shine
a mother talks a husband hounds
from his sitting family
‘what do you want to drink’
with coffee in left hand
passer bys ignore me
i blend into the posted centennial wall
the one by the bronze pig heads
and the bike racks rented by the Metro line
death mask faces reflected in mine
our wrinkles in the old and young
mock the bird silhouettes of our sky
our return in trying to make sense of our lives
Hollywood postcards
there are gopher holes on the sidewalk lawns
and every once in a while on Camilla street
the dirt will mound up next to a dandelion clump
someone lived here once and they still do
and they get visited on lattice top pie Sundays
on the front door a wreath for every celebration
and after morning coffee the garage door opens
name brand grass rose and cactus fertilizers
there are potholes and no sidewalks on Alameda
someone we don’t think of lives here and many more
the dirt around her ankles with pink thread strands
in matted hair with feathers
on Tuesday last her blanket drenched in rain
by her thigh a Starbucks cup to collect her pay
peeking into secret plastic bags
her slitted lips whisper at the fence
there are various hours of the day
where heads can’t be wrapped around anything
i admit i’m old fashioned broken indoctrinated
i’m too tired so very tired to fight a fight
good bad or indifferent
the landscape is not what we think it is
there are no alien or governmental microchips
only old Hollywood postcards in our brain
Yolanda’s haiku
smog ring trash truck roar
morning toke begging cup score
her smile yet to be
Maggie’s haiku
her eyes golden filled
look at it its burning bright
sun on her windows
blues under the climb
fat wives
during the times of kings and crooked priests when land was worked with skinned hands and God was kept from most fat wives were prized possessions throughout the times borders planes punk tunes politics wars of worlds and lipstick trends tea cup dogs and reality shows churches of every persuasion color and flavor fat wives are now abandoned dethroned and berated yet among the kings and dukes earls and car owners big boned brides and fruits from loins each pound of flesh was a gold brick in their safe now strewn across my street and the streets of the city fat humans lethally lethargic forced to eat poisoned industrial concoctions trash and starches because the bottom of the begging cup has nothing more than the guilt coin of the popular collective unconsciousness
when women pray
it happens any time
in any place
around the universe
and even under ground
where they bury us
or in jars
where our chemical composition
lays just there in a powder
when women pray
they are really talking
across wet streets
between cars
right on the division line
of light and dark
they really get into it
a rhythm only she angels can hear
the he angels
they’re pictures on Valentines
sent to Hank Bukowski
when women pray
they think of everything
dirty diapers pregnancy tests
pubic hair the national crime rates
they think of their breasts
the bruises by their mate
the love of a mother
the words not really carefully thought through
but the universe gets the gist
cars come and go
rush hour in the heart
fear and joy at being alive
when women pray
music dances off their tongues
penetrating embankments
concrete or otherwise
the lilts and little valleys
in their vocal chords
algorithms to the stars
when i pray
i pray for a strength like theirs
three Thelmas
Thelma was from Panama
a dancer in her day
came to Hollywood with glimmer in her eyes
but ended up scrubbing walls
and partying it up for pay she said
Thelma was from Washington DC
went to fancy chemistry school
came to NYC to do her thing
and we all three Thelmas
black eyes in common have we all
three Thelmas from different places
in the world cold winter rain
has become the norm
beads of soaking wet misery upon our windows
stretch and shrink and rainbows emit
no colors through the smog
Brenda
if only Brenda could rewind her time three years
shuffling slowly down Agatha street quiet only pigeons coo
i follow the trail of baby feathers-pretending to be sane
just to keep an eye on her
it is reached the daily destination
one of the many resting places
along the coastal California lie
her heels cut dry bond with the pavement
lips crusted knees bent soul MIA
i pull the wool over my own eyes
turn and walk away from her again
words less spoken 