it starts in a flash
we never notice here because
its expected that we agree
to live like this without
complaint and a dosed smile
to be docile and meek
sometimes with fanfare great they
come inspect frown tear up
leave talk into microphones their
grief that its come to
this and then get rushed
to mansions before dinner time
stairway to heaven is closed not under remodeling and owner has not gone fishing
the sound if steps drowned by the city noise voices flapping wings cries microbes eating away flies decomposing of things in the gutter and our minds traffic lights flash gasoline prices clash with American dream promises law enforcement law encroachment law deflation hunger pain need desperate ants we’ve become we have the potential to sell the soul of our children nobody knows not even me i just walk see repeat revolt retort with broken heart to mend by the edge of next block the children shout while learning to fly away from this discord
the trash tray
8th and Union
food bank abandonment
majestic label names
won’t wipe away
our soul hunger
liking the gg allin f/u sign on the bark 😏
in dream i walk PicoUnion
Lydia Lunch hair do
fringe beneath my eyes
the hotdog vendor burns
her inventory
hands in jean jacket pockets
a gold Volvo stops an inch from me
i wear tap shoes to hear a click
because the LAFD sirens sicken me
in the sky there is a subtle sun
negotiating with the trees
one particular tree caught my eye
as he bent in an uproar
almost majestic in size
he blocked me from Hyperion’s
cancerous sighs
chewing Bazooka Joe’s
careful of my side eyeing
in case the fentanyl groupies
demand my food bank box
the city tired as she is
steady her sidewalks remain
in spite of the oppression
‘and the wind began to howl’
protested from a Tennessee plate
Robert England cabin
suddenly the driver and i lock eyes
as lady Vyvanse begins to ebb inside
my pupils begin to show
but my dream turns out
is a hell bound reality
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
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
words less spoken 