cheveux indisciplinés

i love the color of my hair

brown red and in some places pink

my tired legs and lined filled hands

eyes that stare flat beyond the sky

and a mind that has lost the hard shell

of youthful indulgence and inexperience

i love my lips still round and plump

and the new found freedom

of spouting my own thoughts

that are crafted with the filigree of wisdom

i love my face

oh those expression lines

that will never be usurped by botox

my cheek bones high and tight

to frame a genuine smile at the wind

i love my hair when she gets wild

and i walk the streets of Beverly Hills

stroll in the Rolls Royce isles

worn out Chucks with the strategic tears

where the toes are too tight

salesmen follow me with Lysol cans

and their neat white gloves

that eradicate the traces of the hoi polloi

the hair a right of passage glorious

furious bright riot

reminding me that my agedness

is a catalyst to the third eye lens

from where i can finally see

the dimensions of the world

the good and the bad

and really only give a damn

about the moments that matter

from west to east

unleash the ancient bones from the sewer sarcophagus what tribe did they come from and is there crude running through the cavities for we need another Dunkin Donuts on this corner for L Ron’s sake can you please scroll faster my children tasted human contact and i don’t have the time send the nanny to my third grader’s botox session i have roast goat yoga what is it the Bhagavad Gita is that the new shoe store at the center can you believe in something the tires of incongruence are filled with the holy toxins crossing the bloodlines of the time while religiously binge ignoring what’s around the glamour shots bus bench adverts warning homelessness is deadly unclear who they speak of and all the while for 17 just 17 i dream of Mulholland Drive on a two wheeled Pegasus can you hear me Jean Michel tell Andy that i love him the side swiper in the ‘vette looking for the boys long in the teeth the industry landlady needs new meat the volcanoes goofed on mick don’t feel duckie if he fails to bring them mini daisies to their oxy chambers pharaohs in their visions but down in the river racing cars on stolen clouds and i have a hardy laugh spray cans looming large can i paint the past pantheons of our minds yes i believe i can drop dropper dropped watch the hands watch the hands don’t look directly in the mirror while you’re under a spell quite the riveter you are i am the walkman helmet Rotten Johnny and Afrika Bambaataa with the Kiedis house band weaving eckankar in my drums while we carve our knees into the side pavements i didn’t know we couldn’t fly nothing takes out the stains of blood

Dr. Spock forgot to mention

launch

painful

fists at me

i don’t care that

it leaves a blue mark

i’ll just put ice on it

besides skin gets tougher with

time and i’ve got lots of it to

have patience and learn from your mistakes

take it out on me whip the love i have

for you into hell i won’t need it much

just don’t tell me that i’m useless rot

your tongue has a way of killing

a wide eyed love i have for

myself and the Spirit

and it will only

cause my will to

chase demons

in the

dark

et ecce mulier

omnipotent dawn shawled in gray and pink delicately kisses her on her scarred forehead as it rests against the bus bench advertising the most prestigious real estate agent in town while seven nylon bags each with a logo from a market or a high end store warehouse her last prized belongings one ragged blue Nike sneaker and paper cups filled with grime a broken clock and red wires

militant she is in body in mind she could be anywhere beyond the stars when she smiles the image in her eyes reveal the fires from hell in a most delicate green other times she sings in laughter and waves hello across the sky to the graces never seen by human eyes the locals with finery of wear wonder why she’s there and crown her as a public nuisance not meant to be part of this community there is just too much of a great divide between her prophecy and their brittle decaying reality

look the lawmen arrive she’s more despised and made to carry her belongings down Dolores St. and then the dusk with iron claw he comes and she can’t run away from the hand of fair and righteous rule the goodly people have unanimously decided through tax forms and priority that she must go away the jury wash their hands for the people have spoken and so she takes her fate with a tired brave face not understanding the hate or what she did and where it got her

for three days she’s placed on a hold prodded with instruments of scorn and judgment pleading for her thirst to be mollified she’s forced to take bitter pills as the keepers of the places gamble on her kismet now she’s subdued her gown is sheared down to her contorted waist lacerated feet and hands are tied to the bed of loveless nails for the sake of the most upstanding people’s protection system

mi naturaleza

llego

el

tiempo de

verme como soy

un humano de hueso estelar

caminando por los caminos indebidos con pasos tímidos

hasta el templo de la antigüedad donde todos los secretos mueren en silencio

y en la lucha yo contra yo no entiendo mi naturaleza deseo volar con halas de ángel pero solo soy hombre

y en la decisión de amar o odiar me tropiezo y con furia levanto mis manos para el rostro de la santidad golpear con puños destructivos que no me llevan al cielo más alto

no me sirven los pies para llegar al lugar bendito y mis pensamientos navego a lugares fríos donde no hay luz

este día suplico tener permiso de entrar a la casa de mis madres

y que mi espíritu sea nutrido por sus

consejos medicinales donde ya no

sufra mi alma

y descanse

en

paz


minha natureza

chego

o

tempo de

veja-me como eu sou

um humano de osso estelar

andando nas estradas erradas com passos tímidos

para o templo da antiguidade, onde todos os segredos morrem em silêncio

e na luta eu contra mim mesmo eu não entendo minha natureza Eu quero voar com halos de anjo mas eu sou apenas um homem

e na decisão de amar ou odiar Eu tropeço e com fúria eu levanto minhas mãos para a face da santidade atingida por punhos destrutivos que não me levam ao mais alto céu

meus pés não me servem para alcançar o lugar abençoado e meus pensamentos eu navego para lugares frios onde não há luz

hoje peço permissão para entrar na casa da minha mãe

e que meu espírito seja nutrido por sua

conselhos medicinais onde você não está mais

sofre minha alma

e descanse

em

paz


my nature

the

time

of seeing

me as i am

a human of stellar bone

walking on the wrong paths with timid steps

to the temple of antiquity where all secrets die in perfectly still silence

in the fight i against myself  i do not understand my nature wanting to fly with angel wings i’m just man

and in the decision to love or hate i stumble and with fury raise my hands to the face of sanctity hitting with destructive fists that do not take me to the highest heaven

feet don’t serve me to reach the blessed place  my thoughts I navigate to cold places where there is no light

this day begging to have permission to enter my mothers’ house

and may my spirit be nourished by their

medicinal advice where my soul

will not suffer

and rest

in

peace

The Way Pollack Paints Hope

Thank  you for showing up at the venue from where the gambler tosses all they have
onto a table set on a busy street.
Thank you for putting on display a beating heart pulsing with angel’s fingers on that dirty boulevard.
The rose now a beloved queen to a lost traveling soul aches for a few moments of respite before the end.
Thank you for tossing laughter as a hopeful crowd tosses rice at the bride’s feet when the rain will inevitably wash the marble clean.
Thank you for spinning from the air a gentle reminder that all is salvageable.