Henry i know you can see
me. in my rut i can feel the
blisters in my spirit swelling
up again. the prayers only
make it worse.
Henry how did you ever walk
from out of the doors into the
open air? where did you find
the time to convert misery
into diamonds?
it’s so so late in life but
i haven’t been born. the
many things inside of this
bone cage cannot easily come out,
Henry, why?
there is no sun and no moon
divine. the hours twirl and multiply
into clouds of nothing. buildings, caves,
the underpass dull with expression and
righteousness of self.
Henry i remain intact full of holes
with nothing but my germs and
dirty fingernails stuffed with
the scabs of days gone by.
LA poems
to Buk
sins and smiles
angelic nothings cry down
cigarette ash at your kitten heels
typer-bang/bang of your letter gun
heart spilled onto the book
with pencil shavings
by my side
innocent beast with naked brain sleeves
long lost duker wild at heart
contender of my wits-end
jumper of cliffs lover of untender whores
drinker of thoughts
captivator of fears contrary to your view
godfather of streets
cardinal of bums
sultan of bars pope of poems
big daddy writer always tried in spite of all
Sunny Dust
in the dirt the sun shines
delicately highlighting all
the elements found
in my skin
the wind wipes down
what is left of sweat
after the logs have
been chopped down
in my skin i feel
your lips at night
as i too feel the wires
of my debts
the lonely wolf is in our garden
love where did you go
the thunder resurrects what’s
left of me without you
my turn has come to till
the sunny dust
Geronimo on the way to the fair
balmy sweeps of crusty air circle your pinky bike facing me
swooshing by our old galaxy eyes lock
and the heavens swirl about me slow-like
Amir asks why i go the way i go
and i can only answer like your palomino did
dead eye girl Geronimo it is you i know
half a mile up we smell the food of your enemies
blowing south to the seas of cactus
to the west the pale horse peddles in fire water and gold
Geronimo in young girl cloak bronze face
with ancient snakes of worry
oh Lizard King forgive me your blue Amir rides with me tonight through your love streets
nananananana
which were originally mines alone
remarkable girl-Kachina i do admire your courage
on the corner sitting on that pinky be-wheeled palomino
dying slowly slowly slowy a tiny bit a day
Geronimo in your eye
ghost molecules need penetrate my blood with artificial healing
that Philadelphia bell tolls nine
women spirits whose skies rip open oozing snake oil gods
to slither in my soul
choking out our spirit through scattered thoughts
rusty lights broken smile dream dropper
Lizard King hotness in my bones
sonic pulsing in my ears typing on electric stones
thinking of learning to drive the reigns
Geronimo girl eye pinky palomino i in blood
to the fair with the flags inky pinky vibes
broken veins broken flowers jesters laughing
deer dances hidden ghosts at the shin of the God so long ago roaming in this tired wind
ride little Geronimo eyed girl
Amir
the cactus
the sky
the gold
and the King
sit for you in corners to catch you riding west forever…
night
looking at the opulent west terminally
the west is a direction of science and de-evolution
the west has birthed and aborted
the west holds my key to survival
maybe
the west is where itโs at
the west is less frightening at night
the west is my coast
an edge between a dry crypt
and a watery eternal post
manifest destiny cowboys and ghosts
all looked to the west
falling off the edge
to a sagging universe
the west is not frightening at night
cellular levels impaled by expensive
alchemy
blood runs so cold itโs hot
life veins decapitated from their heart
to no avail
my apple has rolled out into the ocean
Hank
The Northwest has a different meaning
in this hour of the day.
Hey, Hank!
I’m trying to reach you by the telephone
standing in my blue boots,
but your old call box isn’t living here no more.
Hollywood and Western has truly made a switch.
No more ladies with the leopard print.
No more gentlemen with eyes to squint
at the devastation
of where you
and I grew up.
You know Hank, I never knew the snow.
Not the way nature intended anyway.
Yet, here I stand on Sunset, check.
Western, check. Hollywood, check.
Melbourne, Vermont check, check check!
Like when I was 20 summers long
stretching out my eardrums
hoping to catch some of your phrases;
some of your breaths.
A mere little prospect. Tiny.
Seeking you out Hank.
Like snowflakes on my tongue.
addict
we wrestle in the tarriness
of a bottomless place
going deeper into what
has fallen in myself
you and i are twins of this pit
and the sun goes down
as ever
we walk and do not move
stare at the stars
and are not amazed
by wandering in the forbidden homes
we have touched
their roses; we have defiled
their souls
squeeze me as i gasp
and longing for you a long time ago
you were me
and now we donโt know each other
your eyes are big
but my eye is bigger
yet i cannot see
without you โฆ
518
i remember being young in times of war
being old today is still turmoil
trapped between the edge of ancientness and gigabytes
marching down any street of l.a.
i imagine what might have happened to you
Chiapas was a foggy land and in the mouths
of studious warriors
seventh and broadway was too
being here in this downtown forest of wires
the hunger in the soul after 85,000 days of fasting is
breast fed at Cliftonโs nook
carousels of irony in theater views
lobbies full of revoltless revolution
my nome de guerre you ask?
i have not one by incidental quiet rage
delegado cero
donde esta usted?
i saw your mirror on a caricature tagged up wall
alla por la sunset
Tlatelolco massacre
is a $3.50 tropical drink at grand central bars
delegado will i find you at the corner?
will i find you in a heart?
as i tread upon my gum stained pavements
a wall to wail upon
time is deep into the night
i am alone as i like it.
about 20 feet away i hear my puppies
licking themselves.
a noise that keeps the monsters away
and lets me know
that i am thinking,
that i am alive,
that i am aware that
20 feet away is life.
goodnight Michael.
too bad i did not get to meet you in this plane.
i think initially we would not have liked each other,
then maybe i would have liked you a little,
then maybe you would probably have thought…
i was hysterical and crazy.
but maybe i would have been in
the pre-contemplation stage of maybe thinking
of liking you a little bit more than
the prior day.
but it doesn’t matter anymore,
does it Michael?
i will tell you a secret.
i went into the computer today
to hear your voice.
it was soft and friendly,
priestly at times.
it made me very sad.
as a matter of fact
i wasn’t sure what to expect.
you are smart.
you are far away.
you are in my walls,
etched in the clay of my skin.
unbeknownst to us both!
are your pictures your memories?
your newspaper lines,
your broken parts,
your Chinatowns,
all of those colorful delights?
i feel you at the base of my brain.
my heart is nauseous
knowing how you suffered.
my heart is very nauseous
knowing i cannot fix myself.
Michael i think you would have dismissed me.
i have two left feet
and could not have danced for you.
your memories your pretty dancers.
your pink pajamas hit me fucking hard.
you are unfair.
i never met you.
i never shook your flesh or looked you in your soul.
like men,
like cowboys and astronauts and Superman.
Michael in a most secret and non-sexual way
you have made me into a woman.
like a cure with no disease,
i continue to think like a man.
in my boxes,
and my pen,
and my quill,
and my colors,
and my spoons,
and all the steps
i have to take.
12 arenโt nearly enough while believing not in one,
but smiling so they can survive
through you.
Michael i have learned to communicate.
a lesser temple granting me what no one else could
grant me here on earth.
you saw it in my inner fears.
the deepest of my perils,
from the cave men to the banana men.
all of humanity beyond you were there imploring,
when i implored for my father
and you knew how i felt when i was 4.
discarded twisted teddy bears.
my menagerie of life.
how could you know how i felt?
i don’t understand Michael.
all of my gambles crystallized in one screen.
your words and your contract
gave me a wall to wail upon.
when no one else willingly accepts
what has been created of me.
for Mike Kelley
Times
and he did love the world
so much so that he placed
the humblest flower picked
from state property upon
the LA Times dispenser
bowed his head and then
he wept.
in tattered hungry ratty
clothes and the most
of foulest health not thinking
of his swollen legs
he stood upon our
bitter words and
thus he wept.
in spite of all that
he could do, in spite
of all that had been done
to him, he triumphed over
all of the dark and ugly
where i still shamelessly
remain.
words less spoken 