i like to watch a woman eat
so much of the female fate
deciphered by her rhythmic jaws
i like to watch her chew her food
she is grateful for the bounty
of the bite she thanks
her Jesus in her thoughts
i like to watch her throat roll down
the morsels of her offerings
sliding down to nourish
the body that will surely
have to fight again
i like to see the people in the park under strawberry moon
in Pershing Square a silent film extraordinaire
they sift through refuse cans filled with Starbucks cups and the ever elusive recyclable water bottle
they work through their children’s play dates daddies selling crystal meth to pay a debt to a society that castrated them at birth
or take for instance the widowed diabetic arthritic hunched over Latina grandmother selling chips and Gatorade while watching her grandchildren who were orphaned at an early age because the sweatshop took their mother at 50 cents an hour to pay to pay to pay
the cloister of the lost waifs from mid west America find themselves now staring at the sun crusted over in sweat and cum fentanyl albatross around their neck wishing they had listened to momma
we are here together alone toiling exposed perfectly harmoniously in despair survival but standing
we are here clinging with bare hand to eternal waking time
we are Daniels and lions all
the dusk is silent
only eddies swirl about my feet
i hear my steps on pavement
come up through my teeth
Mexican bread cinnamon spiced
marries with the hotdog vendors
porky delights
my mind turns to the downtown kids dressed in oversized everything smiling laughing smoking weed back packs on their shoulders
laying on the grass at Pershing Square talking about markers liberty and what’s out there
in the universe they float in
philosophical of thought
passing only on the left hand side
no particular goal today other than just living forever
the sun feels tender on my face on Saturday mornings the pushcart prophets dive deep bent at the waist looking for daily bread the blessed or lucky or trust funded or me we sit on the sidelines safety nets in special edition knapsacks and gluten free snacks me just a cup of coffee and a head full of lucid dreams that the year has nursed with me in thoughts so little spoken feeling not the slightest obligation to mill through success and failure and measurements of poise dignity and strength i sit there golden sun strokes my she dong and life is lived in various circumstances i for some reason only known to beloved Dharma bums have the privilege to sit inactively here today and tweedle my brains smiling at my chances to my left an angel cries out the gospel in a fevered torrent hexed and exhausted but delivering a message for free without the complications of mega centers and fine Italian suits
at the bench i think i’m sitting watching absent mindedly soaking in the flair and magic of the scene jesters and contortionists control the court in front of me cages of allegory truths and fantasies but lest we forget the straight up lies of the institutional do gooders is this it voice of reason hushed up forever when we beg with Coke and Starbucks paper cups where do the coins truly go when we need help and guidance in completely being our scared self why must we worship your flesh and bone pastor and why is it that only your bumper sticker matters i can think too and feel and love i understand that new deals of any color my Mother will not save unless we’re willing to streamline and electrify our own internal ways honoring self and brother truly from the heart giving to Her salvation and letting go the appropriation of who’s got the only righteous thoughts
thank You for my life
with all the painful sorrows
Your light shown me through
it’s very late and the crickets are bedding down in the banana trees for the night and behind the brick walls yes the ones tagged with nonsense the drunkard kings are pissing i’ve been kicked out of many a slummy joint you wouldn’t be the first bouncer to pop that cherry although i give you the fact that i was a little loud when the barkeep wouldn’t take my buck for a bottle of vodka but you understand i’m petite and not of swift feet when i’ve had a few tom collins’ down my gullet ok i get it don’t call my parent’s and that is not my id card but i do resent it when you won’t admit it that i’m the best duker in the bunch and while i have rosy knuckles to prove it let’s not point out last week’s black eye but don’t worry about me by the time i’m in my forties i might have been through a few programs for exceptional drinkers but psychoanalysis has nothing to do with a girl having fun on a Saturday night and by the way can you hold my hair back i feel a wave of chili coming up
Pershing Square wakes up
fading light but nothing new
i look down again
love analysis walk not today think no high loss death paleness cold worlds space out red rock left alone to live and go the cross road upside down fire take soul nourish climb to fall don’t go too field desert kill black thorny the rain dog to the river frustrated mouse to not turn around in blue the cheek has fallen blazing hades in the snow afar Tibet monkey fog tonight a kiss the fall into the mind around Saturn in the vision pantheon neon grey the gross frog lady bird dance in the buffalo crawl to the address in the summer soot the rot of hot music lung ruby in life around thorny ring to the kiss of the foot how the pod can canker the brain storm drain courage of stripe pink to stop not to yield asunder for flat and revolver to plead the clowns of agony of flower pause to burn the heart in line of love
words less spoken 