tuesday night again
warm like mother’s milk
the night dark is silky
not yet the honey suckle whispers
its too early
but the crickets after the rains riot and march along the seams of the house
into tiny cricket bug speakeasys
i wonder if they have their version of Modest Mouse or the Matrix
my worries and fears anxieties and revolving years
of listening to crickets
a supple madness incubated
under pressure of the glamorous life shared by the ballsy poets
my arms just thoughts
holding tight to the hallucination of life
after work on many day
i envy the crickets and their Cricktopia
i envy the little plastic Oscars who get to go to a real home
some place in Wichita
but as i linger in the backyard of this home
assured that the sign on the side of the hill
can no longer crush me
Recovery
womb
good morning mother i’m inside of your womb this is
the first time that i’ve noticed it it’s blue with
gray cotton candy covering father Sun drenches me with Holy
Light and spindly arms grow strong my legs regenerated it feels good to be
cavalo branco
a
run i desire
freedom between the old bricks
legs bent pale tired
b
morning frost soft wind
my brittle neck is tied tight
my heart turns timid
c
freedom is the blood
gallop on fire of strength
now i won the race
two aging Fräulein
lenore/would you have fucked Bukowski (putting out cigarette butt)
grady/no (cracking knuckles)
lenore/yeah he wasn’t very handsome
grady/but he was like so fucking deep (blowing clove smoke)
lenore/i’m not a reader sorry i like a good movie (looking for American flag bic lighter in grocery bag)
grady/yeah no i’m not a big reader either (sipping diet coke slurpee)
lenore/i feel like a loser i should have been married by now (sipping fresca)
grady/i’m not worried about that (eyes melt over Brazilian guy’s round tight ass)
lenore/what do you want most of all
grady/(puckers up at sky)to feel
lenore/in control you mean i wanna be in control of everything
grady/no just to feel like feel the petal of a flower or of a beating heart or the pain of a tragedy you know like that kinda stuff
lenore/i wanna have fun and have stuff and go to a big church and have tea parties and furs and cute babies (lights a doobie)
grady/(sips diet coke slurpee and looks at dirty converse shoes) i spent so many years being numb
lenore/who’d blame you though (coughing weed smoke out at diet coke can)
grady/people we’re funny creatures contradictions i guess
lenore/(blazing) have i ever told you i don’t understand you most of the time
grady/my point exactly lenore i feel like i’m going crazy sometimes
lenore/you’re a brainiac always in your head live a little (offers doobie)
grady/(lights up a fifth clove declines doobie)i just have lots of thoughts lenore that’s all (smiles at pigeons)
lenore/you wanna get laid are you lonely my ex brother in law works at circle k he’s good in bed
grady/hmmm no and yeah (lets out a long clove smoke breath)
lenore/there has to be more to this
grady/it’s in you lenore dig deep you’re gold too
lenore/(smiles)wanna go to Med Men with me
grady/naw but thanks (gives homeless lady a clove and water bottle)
lenore/where you going babe
grady/downtown it’s dusk and the saxophones are waiting (dances a little makes lenore laugh)
hesitant
it doesn’t seem so long ago
that i smoked some cloves
was listening to the Pogues
and drifted into some world war
that i’ve only seen in film
over at Grauman’s Chinese theater
my blues are turning black
and though i opted out of methadone
it never meant that i was strong
will i ever say farewell and laser off the scars
of the circumstances of our battles
at two i’m getting up to pee
the midnight birds are wrapping up
the roosters will shortly crow their song
across the street with the old Japanese couple
i like to think that yesterday’s gash was really a fluke
but the book teaches that we must be quite honest
not being responsible enough to make a decision
i straighten out the linen closet instead
until the sun washes away my pain with her golden arms of fire
tallith
at moon’s end
i find myself
trying to stitch
back together
what i so vehemently
spent so many years
tearing apart
the light is subtle
too feeble for me to thread
needles of apology
remorse or redemption
yet i continue on
finger tips pale
pricked by bitter reminder
of gaping tears
i tore into the fabric
of decency and self-dignity
with offerings of woolen prayers
i attempt to mend and patch
a heart sullen with snags and rips
to no avail
on most any day
then every so often
the rays of light
knit me a magnifying glass
and in subtle ways
i toil at weaving
a better human fabric
for myself
of which i make offerings
of tzitzit embroidered with the shame
of tails in between my walking legs
with seams of hope
that mercy will be granted
at the ending of my new day
a prodigal’s tithe
i bring forth a gift
humble but frail in its heart
gratitude for life
…now sleep in it
in my age
i just learned
how good it
feels to wake
up in my
bed so warm
and soft and
inviting some say
it would feel
like the hug
of a mother
but in my
age this is
all i have
created by my
own unsure hand
Rooster
In 1993 I learned two things about Chinese culture. First that it was the Year of the Rooster and second, that “he who strikes the first blow admits he’s lost the argument.”
In 2003 I sat in the Cecil’s lobby, putrid and rancid with depressive thoughts, but hoping to score; human companionship. No one was there anymore and I was an adult now. My mind meandered.
Rooster was my father. In his youth he was Billy-from-Easy-Rider handsome, cocky, and a womanizer. Rooster would never back down from a fight, ever. He drank enough booze to fly a plane, snorted mountainous amounts of cocaine, cursed, worked hard and partied even harder. I heard that in the autumn of his life Rooster wore scars and tattoos like medals, sped on motorcycles, and had no connection with the children he spawned in and out of wedlock.
Two blond women with big jugs stomped into the lobby and yelled at the janitor demanding that he produce a Roy Mingus. I’ve never forgotten that name on account that is sounds really cool. I imagined Roy looking like Hugh Hefner but broke. The ladies left into the back of the hotel and gassy breeze sneaked in; I thought about Los Feliz and me squeezing lighter fluid into the barbecue pit when I was five.
During the years of my short lived young life, my mother survived through ten years of battle and then my parents divorced. When sober, Rooster was verbally abusive and when high and drunk ultra-violent if anyone crossed him. Other than that, he had been a devout Sunday morning Catholic, chest pounder, and rosary wielding. Tithe giving included.
Rooster came to the brink of death a few times at the hands of his own brother, Gjeo and their motor cycling brothers when they got wind that he’d beat up some broad. It wasn’t in their intricate code of ethics to strike women or kids. The running joke amongst them was that Rooster was like Lazarus for having the longest record of recovery after having his ass and several other organs handed to him over the years. In some ways, I admired the resiliency in him. In other ways, I had always felt profound sorrow and tenderness for the old man.
I curled up and nodded off into the ozone of the lobby. It was around one in the morning that old Pike straggled in and woke me. He startled me and I swung, narrowly missing his crotch. After cussing and gasping he sat across from me in the greasy old easy chair. We started talking about lawn mower motors. He chattered away, but my mind was ten years back.
That 1993 spring mid-morning was fragrant as the moisture in the air teased out the green hopeful smell of ferns and pepper trees surrounding my uncle’s garage. I needed my uncle to explain catalytic converters to me. My mechanic wasn’t able to fix my Jeep and maybe Aces, as my uncle was called, could.
my way…
in 1993 i learned two things about Chinese culture first that it was the Year of the Rooster and second that he who strikes the first blow admits he’s lost the argument
in 2003 i sat in the Cecil’s lobby putrid and rancid with depressive thoughts but hoping to score human companionship no one was there anymore and i was an adult now my mind meandered
Rooster was my father in his youth he was Billy from Easy Rider handsome cocky and a womanizer rooster would never back down from a fight ever he drank enough booze to fly a plane snorted mountainous amounts of cocaine cursed worked hard and partied even harder i heard that in the autumn of his life rooster wore scars and tattoos like medals sped on motorcycles and had no connection with the children he spawned in and out of wedlock
two blond women with big jugs stomped into the lobby and yelled at the janitor demanding that he produce a Roy Mingus i’ve never forgotten that name on account that is sounds really cool i imagined Roy looking like Hugh Hefner but broke the ladies left into the back of the hotel and gassy breeze sneaked in i thought about Los Feliz and me squeezing lighter fluid into the barbecue pit when i was five
during the years of my short lived young life my mother survived through ten years of battle and then my parents divorced when sober Rooster was verbally abusive and when high and drunk ultra violent if anyone crossed him other than that he had been a devout Sunday morning Catholic chest pounder and rosary wielding tithe giving included
Rooster came to the brink of death a few times at the hands of his own brother Gjeo and their motor cycling brothers when they got wind that he’d beat up some broad it wasn’t in their intricate code of ethics to strike women or kids the running joke among them was that Rooster was like Lazarus for having the longest record of recovery after having his ass and several other organs handed to him over the years in some ways i admired the resiliency in him in other ways i had always felt profound sorrow and tenderness for the old man
i curled up and nodded off into the ozone of the lobby it was around one in the morning that old Pike straggled in and woke me he startled me and i swung narrowly missing his crotch after cussing and gasping he sat across from me in the greasy old easy chair we started talking about lawn mower motors he chattered away but my mind was ten years back
that 1993 spring mid morning was fragrant as the moisture in the air teased out the green hopeful smell of ferns and pepper trees surrounding my uncle’s garage i needed my uncle to explain catalytic converters to me my mechanic wasn’t able to fix my Jeep and maybe Aces as my uncle was called could
heart of the matter
i love going to the hills
atop Silver Lake
where i can see Hollywood
my home my western shore
my dusty concrete paths
winding with a promise
to all that we are alive
in the City of Illusions
and that life is no illusion after all
paradox is my goddess
and Los Angeles my church
my habit was my pope
and my grit was my curse
perhaps we all strive
to go back home to reconcile
the hemorrhaging broken vein
and that’s all we want