There are plenty
of emotionally
damaged
souls who'd
love to
dance upon
my grave.

May even be a few
brave enough to
do me in
themselves.

I could call most
of them
off by name.

But by
doing that
I'd be granting
them Glory.

And Glory ,
in all
of its forms
must always
be earned.

I gave into it ,
put down my fighting knife
and succumbed to it.

Like a fallen Palmetto
to the untamed selfish sea,
I fell into it.

Found myself weightless
and dry of tears,
relived of the rush
of the heart.

Veins thick with the
Poppies warmth.
Slack faced towards the heavens
in search of something more.

Saw her face made up of
unnamed stars and canceled out
all other constellations.

It took hold of me,
like the mouth of the wolf
it devoured me.

I was open and couldn't
deny.

That there was nothing of this blood
ruled earth to compare with the beauty
of a star dressed night .

Drug along my gratitude
through the open doors
of wisdom.

Found myself stepping
into a world painted
in blackness.
With only dim city
street lights to dye the
air faded shades of
green,yellow
and red.

Far off in the land
of memory rainbow slicked
Harbor waters lap at ancient
breakwall  stones like slow
rhythmic veiled maidens.

I count the blue lights along
that familiar span across
the fuel laced waters.

Then all at once
I pull myself from
yesterday and back into
the golden light of Nimrods
dawn.

I return to what is no longer
blackness.

It comes to me that another
tomorrow has already arrived
a day worth of hours ago.

The hotel room walls
weep as the sandy hair
girl lays on her stomach
while dancing in a dream she'll
never remember.

Her skin was a ******* white
and there were water stains
on the ceiling that made out
the shape of a pistol.

Took a moment to take another
hit and murdered some more
of the hurt today.

It's 4 AM and my day never
ends.

I worked on the Whisky
because the Whisky was there.

I watched her sleep,
she slept like the dead.

A
Blackbird
chased
crickets
in the
grass.

I roamed as free as
the wild green parrots
and the grandiose peacocks
all up and down
the darkest street
in San Pedro.

Our yard was without
boundaries and full of the buried
treasures of the past.
I'd spend summer days
digging in patched
kneed jeans.
Pulling from the dirt
old time cork top bottles
that once held
***** laced syrups and
other types of liquid joy.

When another ones life needed
saving the red flashing  lights
of fury lit the darkness with faint
hues of shifting reds as the
chariot of death sped past our
grand window.

The pill box shaped hospital sat
atop the hill like a morbid
kings Gothic castle.
Always overlooking
the lightless way.

Memories of our golden *****
running proudly across the canyon ,
a ***** white free roaming
hen still flapping
between her saliva,blood soaked
jaws.

Or the back street rushing
with brown garbage laden
runoff as the heavens opened
and cried rain upon the earth.

I didn't stand a chance up against
the pull of the *******
the dragon and all the
crimes and times away
it brought with it.

I laughed and fought along
side the ****** ones
and became apart of
something more than me.

I learned the true meaning
of the number 13
and earned the right to tattoo it
on my young body like the
true symbol of valor  
it is.

Life on the darkest street
in San Pedro
where the fall leaves of the
Eucalyptus
and the fruit trees burned
lasting colors of
yellow ,orange and red.

Those early years on the darkest
street in San Pedro
where my young mind took in
all the bad it could.

Coming of age on the
darkest street in San Pedro
with most of whom who are
long since dead.

My young life so long ago
on the darkest street in
San Pedro
brings about some of the
brightest memories
I have today.