for a long time
here in our home
we as tired brethren
squeezed unto these walls
the sky loosing grip
bowed heads so often seen
yet the city knows
our pain
she knows
Pico/Union
eating my words xvii
spread the WLS
lunch hour prose
right here in this moment on a cold Monday for LA midday sun peeks in and out although this morning he ran from his wife Moon and she stared him down because he rose late hungover from radiation
today on a gray Monday and the City of Angels we watch each other we don’t see but we watch i look past your shoulder you look past the whole of me eyes glazed over it seems briefcase knuckles curled on the handle white pink shirt slightly crooked walking stumbling in the mind the lunch hour we eat nothing we just stare across the freeway bridge to see the trucks and the cars of the other people who do just as we are doing but they ride on four wheels and to think as we often do not think that there is no connection between us although we are all in the same situation arm in arm in our disconnection
i walk four more blocks and i see the people i used to know
some slowly dying drinking poison others slowly dying puffing away oblivious to the universe
yet others collecting cans washing them out behind buildings stealing water from the dirty pipes
today midday lunch break my shoes dirty my legs cold my eyes blind hands tucked inside pockets that are empty
the whole world is empty yet we drown in debris
we cannot hang our thoughts out to dry those times are long gone
i walk another three blocks where i used to know of a 130 year old home two bedroom large porch she’s gone the only evidence that she ever existed are the orange cones left behind by the demolisher
next week i can bet they will have a high rise up
luxury apartments that no one i know could ever afford
spread the WLS
cicatriz de estrella
triste Celedonia
alma de ave
flor que deslumbra al sol
guardiana de tus dioses
tus remedios tu dolor
cuando llegaste a este mundo
tu alma marcada con cicatriz de estrellas
tener que dejar a tus valles ríos y montanas
tus lumbres tus plantas tus mañas
toda la magia heredara no te la puedes llevar
al cruzar al este mundo mecánico y vacio
todos tus retoños siguieron en fila
menos el más tierno bello y delicado
con el tiempo se marchito
los venenos extranjeros no aguanto
promesas antiguas rotas en ira
de que sería la más bella flor
en el altar de la diosa
Celedonia no hay caso en continuar
de regar el pequeño retoño con tus lagrimas
se fue no está ni hoy ni siempre
has tu vida con tus otros retoños
pero en tu alma herida
mantén en asilo al retoño perdido
cicatriz estrela
celedonia triste
alma de pássaro
flor que ofusca o sol
guardião dos seus deuses
seus remédios
sua dor
quando você veio para este mundo
sua alma marcada com cicatriz estrela
tem que deixar seus vales rios e montanhas
suas luzes suas plantas suas truques
toda a magia de herança que você não pode levar
ao atravessar este mundo mecânico e vazio
todos os seus otários permaneceram alinhados
menos o mais terno lindo e delicado
eventualmente definhado venenos estrangeiros eu não suporto
velhas promessas quebradas em raiva
Essa seria a flor mais bonita no altar da deusa
Celedonia não há nenhum caso em continuar
regar a pequena prole com suas lágrimas
ele deixou não é nem hoje nem sempre
faça sua vida com seus outros filhos
mas na sua alma ferida
manter o broto perdido no asilo
star tissue
sad Celedonia
bird soul
flower that dazzles the sun
guardian of your gods
your remedies your pain
when you came to this world
your soul marked with star tissue
you had to leave your valleys rivers and mountains
your lights your plants your tricks
all the inherited magic you can’t take when crossing
into this mechanical and empty world
all your saplings remained in line
least the most tender beautiful and delicate one
eventually it withered
it couldn’t stand those foreign poisons
old promises broken in anger
that she would be the most beautiful flower on the goddess altar
Celedonia there is no case
in continuing to water the little offspring with your tears
he left and won’t return neither today nor always
make your life with your other offspring
but in your wounded soul
keep the lost sapling in asylum
spread the WLS
physics, interrupted
the apple trees died last winter sitting on the front porch watching the bird bath go green with time’s CO2 no apples no birds they went away forever until three years from now it’s times like this when i think of Dr. Hawking and his warning to Geneva in a most conventional way we don’t know what we don’t but we know we shouldn’t but still we do being made in His image what does it mean when we create in tubes surpassing victor frankenstein shriveled are the avenues showered in teeny asteroids that take our minds to the false heaven while we float in our own shit and we land hard but we won’t cure cancer and while the pipelines feed our need to ride free man i mean really free at what cost and my wild beasts are wild no more floating away on sheets of ice as seen on tv on the front porches of the brownstones on Union Avenue i miss the apples
spread the WLS
Burlington Ave. Retirement Home
you’ve earned the right to sleep
after the end of battle
the mountains and the breeze
of change that do not fluctuate
all was traded some left to the side
the city of angels
is where you now reside
the dream of any freedom
that never was fulfilled
stolen from you your soul and your kʼuhul ajaw. past
Guajoyo in blood, Mozote in fire, Junquillo the same
sidewalk pillows and bottles as slaves
your problems have grown up
the leaving of stains in memories of women
of lies in the jungles with snippets of Monroe
the linens wasted pulp
shared by the poets and the popes
of a world so far away from you
wasting away in the alley of industrialized Golgotha
burlington avenue retirement home
spread the WLS
cocoon
February, in a place where there is no time
but to waste
you, two young soldiers kept at bay
by a raggedy county tax funded white veil
there, between the cold and the colder concrete bed
lays a baby butterfly
ready to take flight, transforming, shaking off its earth,rising from its origin towards the hand of God
i envied your horizontal stance
but from my wretched vertical position
winced at what might have been your life
a supernova worm
before a thousand suns and so many many other moons
rivers crossed and coins spent
but wings are in their stead
mercy tipped love arrow and light
cleansing, beautiful,wondrous light
no more ripping of your worm cloak
like such
i, still in my lateral hoax left to rot
for summers more
good bye, good bye, good bye
words less spoken 