just another day
there are things
that are meant
to he secret
there are codes
that are followed
and no one
knows the meaning
or how the
human drama will
be played out
perhaps there will
be murder or
the sale of
drugs there will
be money to
be made no
matter what the
cost of it
reach you stars
urban pad to launch from
man of money made
tank of thinking minds
streets crossed
intersection containing all of us
heads in the cloud web of world
stomachs of babes too hungry to sail
on ships flying out
through misery and doubt
at night with the party of stars
the stars in the sky i mean
i sit in quiet tender happiness
on the summer eve sidewalk of Sunset and Vine
my eyes scan the shoes
some old some new
there is history in the step
some style some regrets
at night when traffic dies
buses groan and open their doors
warm freon stink hisses
no one exits they just sit
my hands play
with blue Bic pens and loose sheets
their surface wrinkled tears
happiness of simple truths recorded there
at dawn barley curtains fall
the stars have took their bows
coffee’s bitter cocoa moan
stirs my knees and center
in the newness of the old city yawn
where i died lived and was born
onto this place where my soul has soaked in this world is my happiness
precious shards of angel tears
above the Staples Center skyline
a helicopter or two
green heavy military
did you see the angels’ lace
made of colors not yet named
on the ground concrete pillows
bricks pipes crossing lines
multiplying multitudes
faces looking up
to wonder
how the rainbow got it’s high
its virtue and its glow
xray visions time flows through
yet we don’t know
we are the spectrum of it all
Guest Post by Rob Banks the Pope of Punk
the soft cool feather strokes of breeze fingered through my shaggy tangled hair teasing out a kaleidoscope of red highlights
the muddy booted covered feet carried my dirty denim wrapped carcass through the termite riddled door into his wool upholstered army cot where he kept 3 golf clubs
we kissed wildly like two beasts on the savannah interlocked in that battle to the death right before they cut to the Mutual of Omaha commercial
love i wondered as he pawed at me what was it while his teeth searched for my young girl bits
it wasn’t like the movies nor was there flirtation or sexy anticipation like in Bei Mir Bistu Shein
then he stopped my eyes still closed and my tongue lapping in the dark
i need a cigarette he whispered can i bum one i rasped
what is love do you think i dealt out my rhetorical grunts
an almost neon silhouette of his broad shoulders shrugged against the poker faced moon
the sun is shy dark weepy sad the red stars on the hipsters Mao bags are dull it is a bazaar of thought living on the tops of the foam of your demon seas rebel rider non Jane Fondaer grown girl he dirty boy military card heir LA west of Hollywood Battleship Potemkin plays let’s go drop bomb on my tongue baby Jimmy Hendrix’s way irony one hundred ways to think that we can go to Sizzler after this and dude your mom has a new car but if i were on that ship ida’ve done the same damn thing he sings to me God Save the Queen and we go fuck behind the dumpster but we can’t seem to fit it in and we go back to talking about politics
words less spoken 