There's laughter
slicing through
the
palm fronds .

Drunken laughter,
riding shotgun
in the
night.

To think
I wanted only
you to read
my work.

Can you Imagine
I wanted only
you to take
in all
that I
presented.

Like blood
offerings
atop a
ancient
pyramid,
I sacrificed
great chunks
of me on
paper.

All  in
hopes of
reaching
beyond that
frown you wore
in those
final soul
******* days.

I thought
I knew you.
The way I knew
you were smiling
in the dark

The way I
knew the
answers to
those questions
only your
eyes knew how
to ask.

I hoped you
of all people
would
get something
out of
all of this

Understand
how much
of me
these words
take to be.

To think I
didn't share
any of this
with anyone
for years.

Foolish
is the only
word I hear.

Promises
assure
me
nothing
is
sincere.

I married the
cold night
with a cities worth
of lights as my
witness.

Like those of
Babylon we wished
to be closest to the
Gods on our night
of promise.

Her natural brown
hair fell across
her flawless face
in thin lonely wisps.

The tip of
her nose turned
an unhealthy red
as the hill top winds
made their
way past.

We both
produced chilling
diamond cut
wedding bands
made from the ice of
our hearts.

Slipped upon
my finger she did
with the coldness
and a whispered
promise.

And I upon hers
with the words
we had
agreed upon.
"May My coldness
hurt no other but
you".

I may not
have chosen
what most see as
an ideal life.
In doing so
there has been
and will be
many of things
I will never know
the joy of.

I am not
alone upon this
broken red path
littered with
missing bricks.

There are others
who weep tiredly
in the dark.
Others who spend
their every waking hour
drinking or using .
Trying everything
cheap and easy
to fill all that
you have
thrown away

In the eyes of
the Gods we
are not
forgotten.
They do still
cast their shine
upon me.

Their way of
acknowledging
the fact that unlike
most I have chosen
the Hard way.

And even
that Hard Way
gives way to
rewards.

I rode a curb side
dust devil into
the low side of
town.
Found myself
adrift right along side
the lip stick stained
cigarette butts,
empty dime baggies and
a city days worth
of welfare diapers
and plastic bottles who
will out last us all.

Same old dogs
along the same
old streets.
Dogs so old
they no longer
lift their legs to ****.
Its a bit shameful
but a Hell of alot
less painful just
to let it go where
you lay or stand.

Bad kids with
big sticks and
fist fulls of
C cell batteries
chase the winos
along the railroad tracks.
They generate
terror and call it fun.

Televised Gods
for your televised mind.
Fall asleep with the
lights on ,leave
something to guide
me back home.

Blame it all on me
and I'll leave before
the hate sets in.
My time here is
far past due,
summers over and
the rare California rains
have come in.

I came only for the
weather and whatever
there was to drink.
Moonshine Cherries and
Jameson on ice.

The conversations all died with
that last bottle of whisky.
The mason jars are all empty
and this passing moment
feels right
for me to leave with.

The school house started you off with a lie.
From the letters of a foreign alphabet
to the numbers worshiped by the Pagans.

They kept secret the true origin of things.
In code and symbols they've taught you well.
So well that you don't even see the
stars and the titans in everything around you.

Wake up ,open your heart.
Take a really good  look around.
Forget it all ,I know it's hard.
What they've took from you takes time to understand.
If they say Left you'll know its right,
everything we've ever known was a lie.

Shut them out, question the thing that is the city.
This city wasn't made to survive ,
it's destined to become the killing fields.

Stock up and believe, gorge yourself with knowledge ,know that of which you ****.

Forget all you thought you knew
,release their ways start anew.
Arise with the new dawn in a new age
with new eyes and a ****** mind.
Look to the east where the light gives way, forget their lies and see...

They talk about the
garbage like it
was treasure.

Man made
garbage.
Made in order
to keep the
creative side
from
creating.

Its all made
to uninspire
the otherwise
always
inspired ones.

They worry
themselves over
Trash.
Mass produced,
soulless,man made,
ball chasing,
over paid
Trash Heroes.

They're not my
Heroes.
My Heroes
didn't have time
to chase *****
and call it an
accomplishment.

These goals they
strive for all of
which were
created out
of nothing
for nothing at
all but to
numb the mind.

Trash.

They worry about
having more
while I secretly
worry about having
nothing more to say.

Conversations going
on all around me,
its torture.
I hear their
words and
can't help
but wonder if
they are hearing
what I'm hearing.

There's a vision
that stays with me.
A circle of
beautiful people
in stain free
clothes.
The kind of people
who throw
their heads back
before they laugh.
They're standing
around a street
person who wears
wadded up
news paper
inside his coat for
warmth.
They're tossing lit
matches at him as
he lays and sleeps
the sleep of the
invisible people.

For the longest
I dreaded the vision,
their cruelty is
unlike my own.
Theirs is inhumane
but legal and in most
cases it provides their
Godless insides
reason enough
to smile.

Mine is soul scaring,
memory aching,
and really only
me wanting to survive.
It leaves behind
deep embedded
stains in everything
that is you.

Now I find myself
no longer
fighting it off.
I need the
images the vision
provides me.

I welcome the
echo of their hollow
selfish laughter.
I take in the
whiteness of
their grinning
stain free teeth.

I need it all
in order to
try and
understand
their sickness.

As I continue
to survive  
amongst my
own
lonely madness.

My hand shot straight out towards the wall like a shotgun blast as I laid on my sore back covered in a thick film of resiny drug addict sweat.
I was awake and it was hot as Hades in that fucken room.
I felt around the crumpled sheets and half dozen pillows and found my phone without waking the naked body next to me.

My eyes adjusted to the bit of sunlight that found its way past my blinds. The body next to me was wide at the hips with crude tattoos on both arms and an obvious cover-up on her upper back. I tried to make out the name she once loved and quickly gave up . She stirred as I tried getting a look at her.
Her face was covered with a thick mane of dark brown hair, I wanted to wake her but I couldn't recall a name. So I let her be and focused on the LCD screen in my hand.
There was a  picture of a half naked girl behind a thin red wall flashing "Download!"
The sucker I am had to do it ,and that's how my every move  was known for the rest of this ****** off ,weird *** day about to tell you about.

I started jerking or twitching about 4 months ago back when I started smoking the pook pretty much everyday.
Everyday.
Religiously like an alter boy and his ******* sessions .
I stopped sleeping normally and my appetite wanted only sweets or alcohol.When I did manage to burn myself out and pass out for a bit I noticed that I never dreamed.
I didn't dream that night either or the morning as I laid there in the 82 degree stuffy *** room listening to the sound of some useless fan squeaking and creaking it's way back and forth across the room.
Doing nothing but creating the illusion of relief from the hot summer morning.
The hips next to me didn't seem to mind the heat.
I reached over and aimed the cheap fat towards her wide ***
and positioned it to stay there.

September in the city of Los Angeles still felt like July in the 1990's when it seemed to always be hot.
Which probably contributed to the amount of senseless gang murders that spread all over the city during that time like locust.

Hot ,uncomfortable poor people get ******* pretty easy and its too dam hot to be fighting like some God Dam fools in the middle of the hot *** street.Those were  some ****** days and if you paid attention to the city ,you'll find it never really ended.
Everybody just stopped talking about it until it just went away and became normal.
Normal like that dogs gonna hit on the freeway,or normal like everyone in your building not speaking a word of English except the kids.
And they're all bad as Hell.

The last dream I had was in a co-ed detox somewhere the fucken Valley.I was all Doped up on Subutex and Adderall.
All the girls there were either strippers or **** stars or both.  Man....

Anyway,Yea so I got up with another of those weird *** jerks or spasms or whatever. I first noticed them while I was on a good nod you know when you're at that place you spent atleast 40$ trying to get to and everything about you just submits as the petals of the poppy protect you from all that you're dying , trying to forget.
I started to notice every time I fell down that rabbit hole of comfort and forgetfulness I was always being forced out of it by an uncontrollable kick of the leg or swing of the arm.
I mostly ignored it the way I tended to do when it came to things regarding my health. I treated my body like an old second hand car I had purchased with a bounced check.
Only now as I approached 40 did I began to worry.
But I quickly shrugged that moment of worry off as I got up and headed toward the head.

These journeys
to my days
ago,  in the dark
death of night
or the blinding
shine of a life
giving cloudless
day.

All are but
cheap attempts
to **** the moment
of this day away.

And postpone the
problems that
always come
along with
the next.

Sleepless nights
when I've
laid in
the thick darkness
listening to the
sirens scream
throughout
the city.

Drawn out sleepless
nights ,
nights that I spent
conjuring up
images of better
times.

Sleep deprived
lonely nights,
nights  I spent
counting
someone else's
legless sheep.

Nights I spent
wasting hours
by thinking of
nothing but
the past.

I found her
drunk and
shoeless,
ankle deep
in the sand
screaming
curses into the
sea.
She called the
circling Gulls her
guardians,
the bottle she
held a
sword.

I asked her
for a reason
and all she
spoke of was
the past.

She reached
to me and took
my arm,
made me
promise not
to ever leave.

I gave her
my word
which she
had already had.

These thoughts
we shared became
magic.

She opened her
arms to me
and I stepped
into her hug.
She smelled of
sweet sweat and
salt water,
a citrus scent
lingered from her
golden sun
blessed  hair.

Dismissing all
the heartache
I took in what she
had to offer.
Sandy kisses,
drunken promises
and all.
I held her tight
and quietly
begged the
Gods to never
let her go.

I placed
soft kisses along
her sand littered
deep tanned
shoulders.
She ran her
bitten down nails
along the back
of my neck.

Somewhere behind
us the world
cast judgement upon
our Love.

We sat as one
watching the children
chase the tide away.
Both of us
quietly wondering how
long this moment
would last.
Our time was now
but our time was
always ending 
as another
version of the
sun burned deep
into the sea.

Too many
pills can
slow the
heart.

Too much
of a
good thing,
tears that
good
thing all
apart.

It's
always
the ones
who've
done
the least
and
sacrificed
nothing,
who
always
seem
to have
the
most to
say.

She longed for the
honeybee,
its nectar filled belly
ready to inject her
with that sweet sting
of temporary love.

She pleaded with the
tiny cupid
to penetrate her soul
with his compassionate
tipped tiny arrow.

With grey eyes welled
with the tears of frustration
she looked to me and
begged me to assist her
in her quest.

I stared at her porcelain
colored face and seen
the beauty that had
refused to die deep
beneath the hollowed
eyes and unhealthy colored
lips.

Her arms hung between
her bruised bare legs,
the crooks of her arms
were both scarred and
damaged from
too many  years of
false love.

The withering highways
that carried her lifes fuel
leaked red from small
dots where her recent attempts
had failed.

I ****** the Dragon.
Then knelled before her,
like a war torn knight
before his dying Queen.
I had no other
choice but to end
her suffering and
aid her in her need
for renewed ardor.

And when I did,
the moist beads of frustration
above her pale rose colored
lips began to fade.

The tension within
her gazelle like legs
was once again at ease.
Her knotted
bowls
began to loosen.

Her eyes became idle
and slack as the
potion began to work
its hellish magic upon
her soul.

I cleaned her wounds
with a warm wash rag
as she fell in and out
of all of the horrors this
world had presented to her.

Her greasy raven hair
fell in front of her face
as she rose her heavy
head and looked to me
through mascara smeared,
slow heavy
blinks.

She managed a smile
then rested her hand
against my face.
I did nothing but try
to comfort her after
so many had abused her.

She fell into a nod,
I carried her to the bed
and she thanked me
as I laid her down.

And I resented myself
when I heard myself say
"You're welcome".

Their world
is based
on
comfort
and
comfort
has
it's own
section
in the
city.

The rail road tracks
dont divide this
city.

The heart of any
place lays not
within its rulers.

Bar keeps
do their duty
and keep the
highballs filled.

A single room
with a stained
matress and a
million dollar
view.

This is'nt their world
theirs is based on
comfort
and comfort
has its own
section in the
city.

That section
is'nt ment for
those trying only
to survive.

I stare at
these cruelties
with an eye
that has
seen the
ugly side
of Eden.

I tighten my
grip around
the wine bottles
neck with
a hand that
has been raised
and stained
in war.

My heart has
swelled,
the blood that
feeds it has grown
heavy with war.

Inner city war,
war waged against
conformity,
wars fought
hand to
bloodied hand
on a prison yard.
War amongst
my sanity and
my soul.
Wars lost
but never
surrendered.

These vicious
ways keep
me alive ,
keep me in
line.

My blood is
heavy,
slowed by
the weight of
the poppies blood.

My blood is
heavy, so very
heavy as it
runs through
these tired
veins and keeps
my heart alive.

The first thought I
encountered was ,
this poor girl
does not eat.

As our friendship
developed into
more than
I ever imagined
it would
I discovered she
did indeed eat.

When I
say eat
I mean more like
demolished all
that
was presented
before her.

Her sometimes
sickly appearance
was caused
by  the problems
she kept  hidden
behind a
locked bathroom
door.

It seemed the
porcelain hollow
had an appetite
for her insides.

Like a devoted
worshiper
to its Pagan God
she gave up her
offerings after
completing
each and
every meal or
even a snack.

Her sickness
clouded
her image
of herself.

I told her
she was
beautiful.
She called me
a liar and told
me to never
come back.

So I
did'nt.

There's only so
much you can do
for the sick until
they themselves
are prepared to
fight.

Every moment I
spent with her
was somehow
filled with a
full hug or
a soft kiss.

Her kitten
soft touch fills
the memories I've
kept hidden
from us all.

We made Love
more than we
slept, enjoyed
eachothers
company more
than the meals we
never finished.

She'd enjoy
the fancy salads
while I abused the
wine.

There were
more smiles
than curses,
less talking
and more
listening.

But what
made it all so
much more
than
any other
time before.

Was the fact
that there was
more laughing
than talking.
Which
left little to
no room for
foolish arguing
at all.

Learned long
ago
how to
live alone.

Watched the
black cat
eat the fur and
the bone.

I enjoyed her
company
I can not
lie.

She told me
to take
care I
promised
her I'd try.

I drank
on the
floor and
used
in the dark.

I wonder
if this
feral cat is
some kind
of lark.

I've rehearsed
in
my mind
what I would
say.

Selfishly
expected her
to watch me
live this way.

There's a hole
in the screen
where the
cat comes
in.

It's hard to
remember
how this
addiction
began.

Some things are
by nature,
most stick to
their ways.

Baboons carry their
dead,
sometimes its for
days.

I've found
peace in solitude,
comfort in a
gun.

Feral cats are
self governing,
they lounge
in the sun.

Holdfast to your
teachings,
cherish tradition.

It's all just an
act,
it's the
human condition.

It kept me
numb
and numb was the
only feeling I
was searching
for.

I used enough
in those days
to avoid
feeling any
type of emotion
for too long.

And when I
cried,
it was mostly
over a memory
of a time when
I should
have cried
but
was too numb
to care.

She was so
far gone that
the Gods themselves
had
forgotten her name.
She had this
strange ability
to stay beautiful
no matter
how hard
she ran.

She depended on
other peoples
pills,
ate only
when she was
hungry
and once
sliced a girls
cheek with
a razor she
pulled from her
teeth.

She did
all of her
shopping
at the liquor
store and
when she
shared a stolen
bottle of *****
with me,
I knew we had
become more
than just
friends.

Counting all the
flaws I see
like trash
along the
beach.

Remembering all the
dreams I saw,
most of which
I'll never
reach.

Believing
lies I
heard before
never counted on
deceit.

Blew all
my
illusions into
the wind
denying all
defeat.

Made my
way
through
all the storms,
living longer
than expected.

Happiness I
long
to see
misery I've
perfected.

It was the form of her
breast that rose
beneath
a paisley print shirt
that caught my attention.
Her blue jeans
hugged at
her hips as if fitted
by the
Gods themselves.

She laughed and
we drank,
she caressed my
arm as if it
was a massive
display of
muscle.

For the slightest
of seconds
the look in her eyes
changed
as she stroked my
skinny arm.
Her eyes said she knew
that my form
was not that of
a muscular man.

She continued
to smile and that
look of disappointment
had gone from her
eyes as she stayed
and played
out the
fantasy anyway.

I'll say after a
good amount of
searching and reading,
conversating and listening.
That maybe its the mad ones
who sit like statues on the steps
facing Beacon street,
who may be the only
ones who really
know the truth.

There's that way we
are all supposed to be
and that cruel myth that is
happiness.
The tales they
tell as truths keep
me seeking out the
whys while beating
back the reasons.

Material joys can
numb it,
but its the drugs
that **** the pain,
new cars don't.

Let the masses look
to their religions
let it act as their ******.
For my gods are
closest when danger
is near.

There's not enough answers,
just as there are no
real Saints in
San Pedro.
As far as I can
tell.

Friends may come and go
but it's the addictions
who remain reliable.
Where people hurt
drugs comfort.

Put me in charge
of this destiny,
I've guided it thus far
through the foggy mornings
and forgotten nights.
The short lived happy times
and the hardest of times
that always outshine
them all
on paper.

Allow me a little
control of
this destiny,
however short lived
that destiny
may become.

The cruelty and
the lack of compassion
is what captures
my attention.

Ever see a group
of men
laugh a child's
laughter at the
death of another.

The cold capped face
of the reaper in the tower
whose aim is true.
Whose eyes
are always watching.
Always waiting
for a reason to
test his skills.

Pools of blood,
broken bodies that
lay like discarded
rags are ignored
and at times stepped
over like droppings
left by dogs.

Most flit through
life without ever
witnessing
the rage,the brutal
viscous form
of man that has helped
him become the top
predator he is today.

Once you have
lived with
the ******,
fought with the
sinners and been
apart of the hunt
without losing
your sanity
or  your soul.

Everything else is
digested
with less effort.
Accepted alot easier
and ignored with an
unsettling
kind of ease.

They gave me a
29 page pamphlet on
what I can no longer
enjoy.
There wasn't one line
on what I  could
abuse.

We all have our outs,
our ways to escape
it all for a few
needed
moments.
A purpose or a
vice.

My mother has her
wine,
my father his
faith and his guns.
My brothers all
have their futures,
my friend his
Lalo.

All I have
is this,
and if it
ever leaves
me ,
if the words stop
coming.

Then what am I
but another
empty useless
soul ,taking
up space.
Fighting off the
demons,
waiting on the
darkness to come.

Shuffling stones sing
sad love songs with
the waves.

Evil gulls stared
at the
setting sun
with dead
spots for eyes.

I wrote a
name in the
sand.

I sat with my
back to the
world .

Worked on
the *****
and watched as
the tide slowly
took it away.