I lost sight of what it was
that brought me to this.

Skipped the holy water
and went straight for the wine.
A God who forgives
is God who won’t mind.

I got too many questions
with no one to ask.
I mumble to myself to
feel less alone.

I turn to the flower of forgetfulness
whose blood will ease my pain.

Two words appeared
on the tiny screen.
Two words that tore a hole right through
what I thought I had repaired.
“ It’s me…”

The Condor is  scavenging its way
back into existence
across barren California deserts.

I find I’m more concerned  
with things that are too far away
and too far gone for me or
anyone else to care for.

I had her for a little while.
But that little while
meant everything to me.

I got a number and
a place to lay my head.
A big enough stash to
keep this Monkey at ease.

I got all of what I need to
make it  through the night.

Yet  I still long for the
little  things
that never
did care just
a little bit for me.

They call them
brave and they
call them heroes.

As they drop
their bombs
while safely
away from the
battles below.

I opened
the door and cringed at my own actions.
The day was bright and most would
describe it as beautiful.

I **** the beauty of the day
with my dark sunglasses and
step out like a nocturnal little beast
being forced from the comfort of his burrow.

I see Poe's Ravens atop a stuccoed
apartment building all screaming
their curses into the wind.
Mad squirrels dashing across
live power lines as worried pigeons
cooed their concern.

Cars pass and all I can smell
is cheap laundry detergent  
dog **** and fuel beneath it
all the tickling scent of the salted sea.

A girl leaned against a wall
staring at her bitten down nails.
Her mismatched clothing and dyed close
cropped hair almost blended in with the graffiti .
I passed and I think she called me
lover .

The tall proud palms looked down upon
me as I avoided the cracks in the sidewalk.
I tried my hardest not to turn around and flee
back into the safety of my darkened room.

There's a group of daytime drinkers
angrily smoking outside the bar.
I instinctively reach deep into
my pocket and caress the buck knife
as I pass through the drifting
tobacco smoke .

One guy spits and another guy
toes the sidewalk with the tip
of his work boot.

I concentrate on their actions .
I don't care about their faces .

I'm just trying to move through the world like dust.
Hitching a free ride on the winds produced
by the passing cars and the passing memories.

I curse myself for fooling myself into trusting another day.
for I've learned that only the night forgives .
Only by the light of the not so distant
stars and not so distant moon
does this world truly appear inviting.

Could it be we've
all been trained
with bells?

Or is it the symbols.
The Thirty three's
and hand gestures.
The tridents and the
five pointed stars.
The eight
sided pentagons
and the eye
that's always
watching.

Is it that we've
all been fooled?

Could it be the Son
is nothing more
than the Sun of
the morning?

The rich kids never read
Bukowski.
The poor kids all read the
same dog eared copy of
"Women".

The Animal Control guy tries to feel
Nietzsche while parked within
the shade of a drooping
Eucalyptus.
While his frightened captives
**** in their pins and wait on death.

She gave me my first copy
of Kerouac and made sure she
took it back when she
packed her things and left
for good .

I found Dante half dead
and forgotten in a prison cell.
His Inferno had been stripped of its
jacket and was scarred with graffiti.

I read passed the torn
and missing pages
and when I was done.
I went back and walked
through that
Cold and Confusing Hell
with Dante as my guide.

Over and Over again.

This is What I Do.

What I do brings
immortality.

The Words will
always outlast
the Labor.

It came around again
for we are at the center
of our everything.
And the center never
moves.

From between jagged
ancient mountain tops
it's appearance came to be.

Made its way
across a deadly
California desert.
Over a  mysterious,
***** blondes bare
freckled shoulder.

Through the track homes
and the cheap motels.
Between  a beautiful ******
open legs and runny nylons.

Past the clerk asleep in the  hotel lobby.
Past the stolen car
outside.
Across the cluttered
room and
across a dark alley way

Up the main street
of some nowhere type of town.
Across the freeway and the blood stain.
Past the curbside motive candles.

Above the glass like surface
of the morning  dead calm sea.
Through the fisherman's hopeful heart.
And the starlets dying flame.

Over the pages of my
favorite book,
my favorite line.
"Run to me, Come to me'


Through my
half empty ***** bottle
then bounced its way off the cracked
goodluck mirror  and  caught
me straight in
the eye.

Another day had arrived
and with it
the blinding ray.

The first sign
that you've made it
to waste another beautiful
Southern California
day.