most travelled book#3wordspoet pic.twitter.com/02QiweasqD
— mb (@tumblindice70) September 10, 2021
Self Exploration
in the 1/60 th

i never recall at what time it happens the death coveted by bones veins flesh and cells for regeneration not sure anymore where the motivation comes to them my last thought was of “heart of darkness” Conrad did you take my pen i think you’re watching too much news while the truth slips in and out your eye lids he said my plant she sits in her ever patient pot looking at the tree romeo and juliet my third eye is pink today and burns like fire water yet in and out of REM my plant and i glide through the sky her roots firmly pressed in dime store soil and my soul torn out by its tangled roots

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)
Bell and Howell

the sun slides down
lays her golden head
on Dodger mountain
i look around the apartment
notice that i don’t have much
just a few books
electronic essentials
some cooking utensils
work files and water color trays
an old nonoperational
Bell and Howell
and i wonder
was it ever
my intention
to live like an old
widowed bitter sailor or
to be a neat little wife
to have douching schedules
and cook kosher Shabbat dinners
and worship at the west side Temple
roll with the punches like ladies do
claw at my chest with dignity
and gasp at the lukewarm horror
that Stanley cheated on Sherryl
while my praised dentist husband
works her very late most nights
or was it ever my intention
to be rich and famous
with lovers of all intersections
and gleefully snort exuberant amounts of blow
while getting handcuffed away to the station
wearing my sexy Nirvana ripped collar t shirt
now stuffed away in my mid week LA night
freckled with hoarse tooting car horns
and blinking half dead street lights
i breathe deeply and smile
wondering what my intentions
will be when i grow up
and painfully emancipate from this
spiritually bereft confusing mess
that squeezes me tight
as she coyly stands
quietly in front of
that old thrift store
Bell and Howell
on 4th street
when the dogs got tired
and laying on the floor
perfectly brown and gold spots
little Dachshund legs
stretch out but just a few centimeters long
and green eyed kittens by the door
wild shooting whiskers
like the sky on fourth of July
looking for big momma’s kitty teats
then we all look up at the window
simultaneously in time
although i’m just passing
through an old aunt’s borrowed room
the whistle of the train
needled through my soul
and they perfect holy and beautiful
yawn at the sound of the force
hey Mrs. Butterfly
hey Mrs. Butterfly
i want to just say
that in all of my years
i’ve known of you
and the fire flies
lady bugs bumble bees
june bugs dragon flies
and most of God’s
perfect creations
when not hyper vigilanting
over my folks or the predators
my mind would drift away with you
the colors and the hues
the mechanisms made of truth
your wings and curly tongues
and the symbols afforded to you
from people who came before me
and the Egyptians how they loved
the beetle called the scarab
something to do with Khepri
and the rising sun
i believe it
i always have
i know i’ve let your beauty
and your meaning
float from my hands
but i want to say
that i’m ashamed
that i don’t know how
to describe you
my thoughts and my words
cold hollow and crude
those that have been prescribed
to me during my days of rebellion
in my eyes and in my memories
i can only describe the violets
on the hill as like the colors
of the bruising in the midnights
or the red of carnations
as the blood from my lips
for refusing to give in
or the grace in the flutter
of you the butterfly
in complete and utter silence
but before you send well wishes
and praises
i want to tell you
i’ve been no angel
i deeply hurt and failed to protect
the one who i should’ve loved first
but look it here
daisies and trees cacti
and geese all of the colors
in the rainbow high
and the moon and the stars
and Venus and Mars
i dig you man
and i’ve haven’t lost sight
that universe and the life in it
has always been beautiful in my eyes
even if the magazines
don’t think so
i know that i’m right
Mrs. Butterfly
i hope you can find it
in your perfect heart
to forgive me
for not being able
to knit you the
words that are worthy
of praise to your merit
shroud
shroud
window at dusk
clove cigarette
clings between wet lips
diet coke
dangerously close to keyboard
sad tired eyes
the color of gypsy moss
blood trickles
from her nose
at times
thoughts bounce
like dandelion pappi
blown from the tiny lips of babes
and at times
an invisible pang
slightly electrically melancholic
in the middle of the chest
looking down to see
how people such as we
just all wander
on Spring street
she thinks with slightly damaged brain
do they see as i see
she feels the wounds of the mistaken
and soothes the misguided vigor of the innocent
the sweet sweat of gardenias
distract the ghost
locked in her heart
life becomes less ordinary
and so she sits to write
out the fabric of her soul
Abe Lincoln blues
I loved the balmy Monday mornings, skipping school and eating candy bars for breakfast. I loved sitting on street corners and watch people beg and drink and carry on. Some would scream and yell at invisible entities. I, a mere ignorant child, would laugh at them.
On some Tuesday mornings I might go to some classes, English and Art. Nineteen eighty six was also a year of self decline and so I would become an internal rager. I’d scream in silence and yell very quietly, almost apologetically and like a mouse. I was my own entity.
It was around the cold season in LA when I met Taino at the Cecil. He was a friend of spare cock Amos. I suppose by today’s social and political standards Taino was a transgender person. A male to female.
There were discussions about the Iran-Contra affair at school. But, I was too high to care. The internal me was asleep in a bigotry of soul, intellect and spirit. Something in me was hurting awful bad and illicit street medication provided a wave of relief like nothing else I could have ever imagined.
My city was filled with anger and deep pockets of despair and poverty. My city was also filled with anger and discontent and profound pockets of despair, pain and prosperity. I quickly deduced that money does not necessarily hurt or help, but it never brought happiness. Not the kind you feel when you hug a puppy or your mom sings to you or your Da stays up with you when you had fever. I’ve always remembered the first time I hugged a puppy. Taino and spare cock did the best they could with the other things I sorely wanted.
During the cold season in 1986 I also began to feel something toward God. It was a cartoon I saw in The LA Times. The Challenger blew up in the heavens and it was televised. It appears that the astronauts had touched His face. I was high and sad and uneasy. Internally, I began to cave into myself, to think too much, to question and to doubt myself. I began to imagine that God felt we were becoming too bold.
On a rare occasion, I was pleased to be challenged by my school principal to write a report on Abraham Lincoln. For years I thought he looked really bitching; all Emo before Emo was a thing.
Grady learned different perspectives of global political history that 1986. I understood that in some ways human nature and our own personal choices would always drive the civilization inside of us before any collective could flourish.
That year, I had my fist brush of psychological testing. My principal felt that I was confused for being of the opinion that the Union wasn’t aiming at freeing the slaves first, per se, but rather in uniting the country. My folks never got wind of the situation and if they did, they probably thought I’d grow out of it.
my way …
i loved the balmy Monday mornings skipping school and eating candy bars for breakfast i loved sitting on street corners and watch people beg and drink and carry on some would scream and yell at invisible entities i a mere ignorant child would laugh at them
on some Tuesday mornings i might go to some classes English and art nineteen eighty six was also a year of self decline and so i would become an internal rager i’d scream in silence and yell very quietly almost apologetically and like a mouse i was my own entity
it was around the cold season in LA when i met Taino at the Cecil he was a friend of spare cock Amos i suppose by today’s social and political standards Taino was a transgender person a male to female
there were discussions about the Iran-Contra affair at school but i was too high to care the internal me was asleep in a bigotry of soul intellect and spirit something in me was hurting awful bad and illicit street medication provided a wave of relief like nothing else i could have ever imagined
my city was filled with anger and deep pockets of despair and poverty my city was also filled with anger and discontent and profound pockets of despair pain and prosperity i quickly deduced that money does not necessarily hurt or help but it never brought happiness not the kind you feel when you hug a puppy or your mom sings to you or your Da stays up with you when you had fever i’ve always remembered the first time i hugged a puppy Taino and spare cock did the best they could with the other things i sorely wanted
during the cold season in 1986 i also began to feel something toward God it was a cartoon i saw in the LA Times the Challenger blew up in the heavens and it was televised it appears that the astronauts had touched His face i was high and sad and uneasy i internally i began to cave into myself to think too much to question and to doubt myself i began to imagine that God felt we were becoming too bold
on a rare occasion i was pleased to be challenged by my school principal to write a report on Abraham Lincoln for years i thought he looked really bitching all Emo before Emo was a thing
grady learned different perspectives of global political history that 1986 i understood that in some ways human nature and our own personal choices would always drive the civilization inside of us before any collective could flourish
that year i had my fist brush of psychological testing my principal felt that i was confused for being of the opinion that the Union wasn’t aiming at freeing the slaves first per se but rather in uniting the country my folks never got wind of the situation and if they did they probably thought i’d grow out of it
after life
lost
today
open sun
smiles a plenty
the kids all playing
innocence not taken
i breathe in the warm feeling
the ducks come near me for some bread
sweet genuine brown eyes smile at me
what does one do when you have won the war
you buy we fry
my favorite chair
are the sidewalks
those in the 20’s and 30’s
edge of downtown streets
a mix of rustic houses
shacks and alley ways
some with flowers
some with trash
my favorite chair
is not comforting at first
it affords me front row view
to the less palatable aspects
of genteel society
exposed vaginas cocks
twisted tongues
defecation out of
hundreds of orifices
then there’s the strip mall chair
with the upright and honest
vendor my favorite one
is Donicio from Panama
he has a way of telling
funny stories
across from there
is another chair
‘you buy, we fry’
it’s mostly busy
on the sabbath
my eyes their
veils of formal education
lifted and the life of life
exposed to all my senses
there is something thrilling
about hopscotching through
dog shit in a city
that treats us all the same
my favorite chair
in the bars of the people
although people aren’t
what they used to be
my amiga Casimira
has the latest I Phone
when i want to look in to
her deep brown eyes
and have her Oaxacan accent
transport me to another land
especially on jury duty day
to no avail
i lost my friend
to the latest pop up store
at the end of most days
when the journey’s done
i go home to my derelict
dog and two jaded kitties
with caffeine in one hand
Phoebe Ann the cat on my lap
the memories of my rest stops
deposited silently
in the removable data bank