it’s a dirty trick the world is round and the road will take me nowhere go far away they say as they laugh in my face knowing that i will spiral on forever did You make it so that i couldn’t climb up to heaven certainly in my dream i can fly anywhere it is when my eyes are open that the gutter stinks my red nose upon it the bottles are brown and plenty the snakes jitterbug sitting on the throne of bygones but only in classification how can anything You created be bad free will maybe You shouldn’t love us so it will cost 100 trillion to be green and where will my seed grow thus we pluck each other’s eyes out i don’t want to think anymore or see anymore the beauty is of strange moon beams cats fiddles drug induced riddles Darwin you fucked up revolution on all that was gained the righteous claim their stain on the goodness of the worker
Spirituality
iodine dream catcher
we call it infection thus fever comes hot cold sweat in dream floating away on a cotton boat needles shiny at the end of the bridge approaching me ghosts left over from a mardi gras circa 1874 i only met in pictures shiny orbs rubber balls as the rotten peaches fall into the bell jar tar the road but let me in i want to feel the burning in my vein traverse the universe i don’t think i’m made of clay but i’ll let you think i believe
greatwestern
the hospitals are the same all over i now believe except for the revolving doors everywhere and the river beautiful pigeons and other birds look like they were spit shined and then the river crossed on planks made of steal with tug boat Cadillacs full of salty earth the buildings tall old bones new skin i grin at the sun rays coming at me hard but the old grandfather wind swoops me from the light and in three hours it gets dark and i walk around the park and back to the clinical round of someone who knows nothing of anything beyond the cereal box patients waiting all the time looking tired worn out sucked down pulled up by the soul and sick of heart like the ladies looking out from the Amsterdam house mine eyes search for invisibility and the wolves follow me with teeth and i a fox in sheep’s skin look the other way i don’t want idolatry tonight the French baguette is hard and stale but i get it anyway i want to feel other than myself the urges come like thunder but then all of a sudden it dawns on me that i’m in Illinois and that Abe was a member of the Whig Party tears are salty anywhere we go and why in the fuck isn’t Pluto a planet
sunrise prayer while whistlin’ to Shonen Knife
Lord it’s me
Grady the Rh- monkey
tuesday morning
Chicago scene
eyes are watering
but it’s not the wind
i haven’t talked to You
like i think i should
just want to thank you
again and again
life flashing
on the right side of my brain
the train car rails
are really cool
if i had a stray thought
it’s all because
of the architectural allure
but i’m mouthin’ too much
arigato for all you’ve taken from me
arigato for all you’ve given me
arigato for all those whom i’ve battled
and for those who have kicked my ass
for all the ones i’ve hurt
and the things i’ve thrown away
thank you for the violence
and especially when peace runs through me
thank you for the fight
thank you for the lessons
thank you for this river
and the beggar by the bay
for the nature
and the phantoms in my bed
and thank you for looking down on me
when my demons ring my bell
no egos need apply
tranquil 3:48 p.m. cemetery
exposed roots and i lay my head
on them inhaling the stink of rot
coming from the moisture
entwined in their wood
like cells and chromosomes
the lawn lush and cool
flower beds the brightest
colors in nature’s pupils
jeweled hovering insects
with class and personality
perhaps we are in the place
where not only the dead
come to rest
below the soil
a natural process
holy if you will
is taking place
God’s created flesh
returns to its forewarned state
i can’t imagine it would
appeal to me if i saw it
i then wonder would God’s
face appeal to me too
i focus back on the scents
around me
green aquatic a fowl or six
fried chicken knock off perfumes
car exhaust a hookah oxtail stew
and i think again
behind the pedi-cured beauty
underneath my resting fleshy bones
resides the biological truth
no egos need apply
baseless essence
mirrors slates to the eyes
cold blood hot cries
in the forests of wires
camping for leisure
in soul of one who
was once a beauty
now the dump
they along with the trash
typhus and the brass pipes
in the underground
akin to the bony
once strong legs
of our fathers
stones from her river
are epoxy sold in bags
at the mostly made in China
flower and craft shops
we and they still people
we are flesh
twenty nine doors down
we also have botulism
to soothe the angst
of those whose spirits
have been mislead
to look inside the slate
and not see
the true worth of their inner glow
atheist riot
warm Sunday
City Hall lawn
young people
bright yellow
biker shorts
we too
sit there
moving slowly
watching smiling
at the
busy gnats
we drank
sour beer
sharing one
warm can
that took
three hours
to buy
our sisters
a yard
away talking
and pouting
smacking lips
laying out
their tired
patchwork skirts
they twirl
bottle cap
rosaries between
their stained
fingers etched
with cuts
and cracks
the brothers
coming out
of trance
acknowledge that
nothing here
will change
too many
men on
the job
too many
brains and
greedy wallets
planning our
fate and
we all
look up
at the
trumpeting birds
and we
rise in
arthritic waves
even though
were under
thirty one
and in
a hallelujah
arm stretch
above our
messy heads
our sisters
break out
in harmony
as their
washed out
bone bleached
bracelets jangle
snapping fingers
send a
thanks to
the heavens
the brothers
do a
little dance
and onlookers
stop to
stare with
smirking eyes
and jaded
quips against
the humble
family on
the lawn
who can
only address
God outside
of hypocritical
sanctimonious walls
cicatrix
it’s best if we sigh now
oh life for all of my days
you still haunt me
you just a state of neurological being
but you life you have gotten in my blood
no other place is better
i was conceived old
my thoughts Gemini to Don Quixote
and in times of desperation
i’ve gone blindly into battle too
just a shit head little cunt
from the city of LA
but fuck, fuck i say
you and i sister tough old bitch
we still stand
on the corners and the roofs
we too sit in the high life cafes
and the rat infested flop house bars
to tell old drunk sailors but not of Navy type
of how we got our scars
rape intoxication politics aggravation
education isolation insanity warm sun shine
loneliness love devotion twisted words
beatings in the dark making love on the sand
injecting poisons til the boils could hold no more
rode in the ambulances
mourning flat-lined blue lipped boys
ah life i am yours and no one else’s
when sitting by the ponds the koi fish
bubble up asking for my orange cheese crackers
every so often i can shed a few tears
when the coroner loads one of us into their van
never knowing who they were
but knowing that they’ll go to heaven
but my favorite scar by my cupids bow
when my face got smashed on the garage asphalt floor
so many fears and rage at the same time
and the pictures of my mother
lost on my travels with no paradigms
the scars in my heart
i keep those inside
some demons are best left
to the annals of the mind
now my friend lover spouse and enemy
we’ve walked down the path
that’s led us close to the horizon
of twilight and as much as i want to lay down to rest
and ponder your meaning and flick ashes on the floor
i realize that i’ve been just another story
at times screaming off my head
another woman scarred
by the significance
of nothing in your eyes
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
violetear
they riot in the plumeria tree
the one with honey hearted blossoms
darting merrily in and out
electric buzz as their ruby throats
quenched by morning dew elixirs
blend with the sun
words less spoken 