the signs
Humor
moon confessional
the dreams i have are irrational futuristic agnosticly holy and in reverence to the moon just this morning between coffee and more coffee and water and coffee i thought the goddess was a lamplight but no my cheeks felt blushed and that hot hot feeling came over me warnings of physical danger the moon caught me flirting with a piece of lemon cake for breakfast but i wasn’t interested nor in the tea or the oats memories washed over me of my uncle’s girlfriend’s breakfast table robust meaty no fancy meanings a flap Jack was just that gluten fat saturated and otherwise corn syrup and food coloring sugary cereal more potent than cocaine Tang for the kids gin and oj sometimes too wink wink lives so many lives i telepathically tell the moon can you see the despair from up there you lady with the rabbit tattoo engulfed in memory was i talking like a rabid fool i turned and looked outside my window and there she was all round and orange inching into my kitchen to see what all the trouble was
spread the WLS
beauty quiz flunkee
i like to wear the black t shirts like Lou Reed wore
and my eyelashes full of black goop eyeliner slapped on crooked
the kids they talk of Spotify but they’ve never felt the living beat of playing a Fender Jazz bass guitar im just a girl but not really just uh girl there’s kinda a lot of intersectionality my heart she beats in tiny bits when we see your smile and when i bathe i hear Sweet Jane whispering to me under water and on some nights my eyes can’t sleep we chew our nails and tap our feet the holes on my black jean’s get wider i think my feet are kinda big as i bounce twinkling stars off the tips of my toes from the blue sill of my bedroom window but then the sounds of laughter travels from some neighbor’s t.v. reminding me of the possibility that i might just order botox shots tomorrow
spread the WLS
California Covid sun
following the gray marbled filigree of last month’s mud on sidewalk downtown farmers market hot with California Covid sun
the cherries look tempting but the purple Peruvian potatoes go great with olive oil pink salt and cumin my face tightly masked chewing the fat with the book vendors afoot offering their home address for their monthly ‘hope we get laid’ poetry reading salon
then the urban crows catch my eyes they with E A Poe smiles rainbow oil slick feathers shine under that California Covid sun
Dr. TL tongue tab flash back dream hits me like a polar breeze suddenly there is baby Grady golden brown moppy hair blue Keds size three and an uncle with soldier rough hands smiling at me
no sooner than a tear peeks into my water line a sonic whistle from Spring Street punctures my loser mind Lola Ramirez on the weekends and Manny Sandoval during the MF 9 to 5 she a purple paisley mu mu gold earrings and Michael Kors sack me black t shirt with the face of Siouxsie Sioux paper Trader Joe’s bag both aging X’ers under that California Covid sun
Lola and i float to the flower stand and her throat crooned in a Yucatanian Spanish slang enchanting and schmoozing the vendors so i get to pay ten bucks for a 50 dollar assorted calla lily bunch
the 4 am 3 cup Turkish coffee buzz wore off and dull knife pain from old injuries descend upon my left arm so i shared a dream that a cool boy once had while Lolita and me sipped iced black pressed molassesed coffee under that California Covid sun
spread the WLS
grady’s conspiracy theory plays electric klezmer in the echos of her mind while sipping chamomile thinking of Earl Grey
spread the WLS
mosh pit review haiku
he slammed his way through
with fury and poised intent
one punk at a time
spread the WLS
mosh pit review haiku
he slammed his way through
with fury and poised intent
one punk at a time
spread the WLS
the next selection
nobody has sung me to sleep
i think as the green chile frozen burrito thaws in the 7-11 microwave ring
while the four minutes buzz by i stand in a line to pour French coffee in a 99 cent styrofoam cup emblazoned green and orange
7 sugar cubes black steam rising like a genie woodsy cinnamon that melds with the patchouli on my skin
the oven dings me to attention
the burgundy corn rowed attendant girl smacks gum like cud while stirring safety orange colored cheese ooze in the sweaty container her name tag reads Patricia
across Broadway is the farmers market Feng Shuied on 4th over here honey the flowers over there by the old bank bookstore apples and grapes by the old merchants den
i think i’ll get some lilly blossoms
my brain begins to hum something by the Smith’s outloud
there is a millstone round my neck today
the pavement wet with northern rain and i like it’s sepia tinge
the thud sound of pea green goop hitting the ground alerts me
burrito down i wrap what’s left for dinner on Tuesday
the coffee lasts for as long as it takes me to cross the empty street
i slip on my mask one loop at a time behind my hair and ears
somebody’s hipster husband smiles at me
in a way the Crystal Healer wife might not have liked unless they both are swingers
the blue tooth hums blink three consecutive times and AC/DC attacks me
the final riff flows through my rickety bones and for the next selection i settle on Tchaikovsky
spread the WLS
ain’t what she used to be
in youth i’d run with a pack of wild dogs now they Netflix it
we’d howl at the day and bark at the sun
night time our turn to wag hell out of the city
where did my vicious rockin’ pack go Xerox Corp CEO famous music boys political party hardies Cheetahs lead dancer girl
tax filers line followers at the DMV mimosas on Sundays and tea with the Queen
no more mashing heads smoking drinking or raging party over here throw up over there look out the cops are coming mates!
Ben Gay’s my friend supporting me as i reach to grasp the Prevagen
my leather and spikes traded for breathable organic fabrics and compression socks
alas my lover’s tats aren’t where they used to be but in between snores and farts he says don’t worry babe neither are your tits
spread the WLS
dude’s stall politics
