The nights have
always been the worst.
Sitting alone
with a drink
and some drugs.

Close to the
open window,
listening to
the sounds of
the night.

Passing cars and sirens,
a couple arguing
somewhere down the alley,
a whistle set loose
by one of the young
whose turn it
is now to
own the same
night that I
once did.

That slow and
lonely fog horn
sounding it's
warning every 45
seconds a quarter
mile out.

The mind filing through
the days events.
The failures
and the progressions
that weren't really
any type of
real progress at all.

Flipping through it all
in search of a reason.
Images flashing,
the infants smile
or that girls manicured
fingertips gently
along your face.
Magicly guiding
you into a kiss that you
knew meant nothing
to her at all.

Still drinking,
still using,
still counting the
seconds between the fog horns
sounds of the night.

Still trying to keep it all intact.
Mind,
Heart,
Body,
and Muse.

Waiting on a word,
a line.
Something to put
down and save
for the ages.

The nights are
the hardest,
that they've
always been.
But the night
is usually when
this magic
appears.

I once spent an
entire summer with
a black eye.
Proving the fact that
I was young and willing to
try.

We drank hard in those
days.
Back when it all was used to
enjoy.
When the alcohol was a social
thing and the
drugs were just a little late
night activity among the
chosen few.

We don't move in packs
like that anymore.
And those of us who still
indulge do it alone
or in order to cope.

I'm trying to pin point
that moment,
that final event,
that final failure that turned it
all so bad.
So destructive.

I'm feeling the effects of the
abuse.
That missing chapter.
The surgeries.
The fact that it took so much
to finally realize
the price I've paid
for my own
self inflicted,
blameless,
foolish
ways.

I concentrate
not on my
thoughts.
Nor feel with my
emotions.

I do not
react to that
chatterbox
within my
head.

It's the silence
in between
the pull
that captures
my attention.

I am the
Fox.

And these
Demons
are the
hounds.

Their pursuit
is endless.

And my
need to flee is
my wanting
to survive.

He stood at the
height of most men's
shoulders.
But grew into the
size of Goliath while
full of wheat barley and ****.

His pale blue eyes
sat peacefully in the center of the
angry blood shot pool
that had once been
as white as the
hair on his head.

He was handy with his
hands but his hands
usually held a bottle.
He drank only at certain
bars,only around those
who had come to
know his rage.

He wasn't allowed home
when ever he had become
one with the ranting
and raving lunatic
who lived deep down
in his soul.

His voice was raspy
from too many cigarettes
and too much
drunken screaming.

He had pains that called
for pills and names he
swore he would ****.

And he drank every time
like it was it his first time
or maybe the last.
Always enough to
awake that
giant within.

There's times that seem
to fit and make it all more real.

Like the snapping of the
plastic seal on that
cheap bottle of
*****.
Just as she slams the door
for that final time.

Frusciante on the radio
and you with a needle in
your hand.

The seagull who passed and
dropped his waste
upon your sunset.

There's images that swirl
inside your head and
leave behind deep grooves
within your memories

Impressions like her
sculpted face in candle light.
That strung out you in the mirror
that even you didn't recognize.

There's that love you
thought was dead
and those addictions
you swore you
left behind.

There's times and ways
that seem to fit.

And it's what lengthens
this life that are like the
pages of a calender.
One on top of the next
to be written over.

All to be lived
one page at a
time

Once you've finally
come to realize that
the little ones are the
only good human beings
.
Your trust in anything at all
is all but gone.
Your back now as worn
out as a well read
paperback.

And your heart,
your starving,giving
unselfish heart has
now been hardened
by the loose,uncaring
women
you gave it to.

You got to just
barrel through it all
while taking it real
easy on the breaks.

The burdens of society,
the addictions,her wants
and what little
you have to give.
That on going
struggle within yourself
between what you
want to do and
that in which keeps her happy,
a roof over your heads
and gas in that guzzler.

We are cursed with a
narrow perspective,
unlike the butterfly who
sees in all realities.

Learn how to survive
and consume with the least
amount of your potentials
and call this success.

Decay always begins
once growth ends.
And there will be
plenty of dreams
to **** tomorrow

I walked  in step
with that old guy
beside me.
Watched as he craned
his old neck around
at every
sweet smelling
beauty that  passed us
by.

We stay that way for awhile.
Walking ,watching the parade of
hometown and home grown
beauty's walking,driving and pedaling
their way past.
For a few moments
I fell in Love.
And they all lasted
just long enough
to watch the different
versions of her blend into
the streets and vanish.

We approached  some boys
sneaking left handed
cigarettes while sitting
on a wall half hidden
from the world beneath a
drooping
eucalyptus.

A tall boy rose his
chin to me as his fist
went into a ball.
I smiled as the Old Man
and I continued on.

I casually tightened my grip
on the pistol in my pocket.
But I had already
decided to let
this stupid young
boy grow into an
idiot of a man.

I caressed the
warm pistol inside
my warm coat pocket.
I felt the idiots eyes
burning into my back.


The brave Bull Fighter
came to mind
and the idiot beast
whose craving for
the flag of
red draws him to his
doom.

Cruel I've been along
my way,
the slaughter is what
stays with you.
All the rest
was just
time spent in
passing.

The old man
who finds me
when I'm unsure and
afraid,troubled and
out of drugs and searching for
reasons to continue on shook his
grey head as I looked his way.

I did what I always do
at the sight of him.
I  laughed both to myself
and at myself.
Once that started the Old
man got to laughing which soon
turned into coughing.
Then like we always do,
we took the briefest of
moments and said our good byes
with our eyes.
Two sets of the same eyes
both witnessing it all
together.
One set reminding the
other of how much longer he has to be
here.
I secretly thank
him and he always
reminds me that I'm not
going any where any time
soon.

I'm far from a prophetic
man.
I don't care enough
about those Ill leave behind.
Or those I pass on
Gaffey street.
Through the years
of living hard and without
I've come to discover
greatness.
I've come so close
to cracking.
So close to embracing that
injured hand
of madness.

I have emerged from
the solitary prison cells
and the sad existence
of life locked into
a drug den I called
my home.
I've come out
the other side
with a densely
colored vision of
it all.

It's not all
in Greys,
but with the times
I've spent in the Grey.
Thus gave birth to
my convictions.

I started this
with my head
in my hands,
ran my palms
down my face,
brought them
together in front
of me as if in prayer.

My mind was
putting on a
show,
bursts of
imagery flashed
like fireworks.

Words floated
like falling
feathers,
ideas danced
like fireflies
in the night.

For some reason
my senses
brought about
the scent
of the sea.

I closed my
eyes and seen
the palm trees
sway like
hula girls in
the wind.

A smile appeared
and I
held on to
it for as long
as I could.

Eyes clenched
tightly shut,
mind at work.

It called
to me and I
ran to it
with my heart
wide open.

And when
it was all over
I sat down
and created
this..

It was all
so magical,
all so other
worldly.

It was in
another time
but the
place was
here.

Then your
face
appeared.
Younger  like
when we
were at
our best.

I became
undone
by the vision
of you.

I awoke with
a cry and
a knife in the heart.

The dream was
over and I
felt better
off when
I looked around
and didn't
see you.

No body knows me
let the grey be all
they see.
Let only I
and the owl alone
catch that scent
of death in the air.

From across the
blazing asphalt
I watch children
chase balloons
across manicured lawns.
I stand like a
ghost and will the
balloons to float
just out of
reach of a
double braided
little girl.

As  the wind catches
the childrens losses
the faintest
of smiles
flashes across
my face.
As I look
up and catch
4 more losses
that have now
been forever
taken by
the winds
of my memory.

A message I
send to one of
my only friends.
Let it reach
him or her
before I change
my mind again.

I've opened up
and presented to
them nothing.

No body knows
me,
let the poppies
blood cleanse me.
The pain I produce
is not infectious.
It's private,
it slowly tortures me.
Like the stammer
and those
years,
it destroys me.

I count four colors
forever taken
by the wind.
And 3 children
who's
teary eyes
and scornful
stares are now
fixed on me.

I look to
the heavens and
smile toward their
loss.

Let those floating
colors be their
only hurt.

Let them never
know my smile,
Shield them
from the
Dragon.

I'm numb enough,
I can take it,
Let them be
and lay all that you
got right here.
Right over here.
Right all over
me.

Lay it on me,
your payments
I've recieved
before.
And yet somehow
I find myself still
indebt to you.

Let them grow
old and wonder.
Let them wonder
before
they began to
forget.

Let them join all
the rest.

Let them
become
enemies
of my sorrow.

Let them quietly
fall into their
existence.

Let them Be.
You've already
taken all that
was left
of me.

I was raised
on the ways of
the Wolf.
I applied these ways
to the best of
my ability.
Only to be set
loose to live amongst
the sheep.
Where
my ways were
considered savage
and unreasonable.

I turned to
the Poppy
and the *****.
I was insearch
of a temporary
sanctuary from
the  past misdeeds
replaying
themselves
inside my head.

Only at a later
age did I come
to understand
these wounds
that still
bleed leave
trails full of
wasted years,
lost lovers and
forgotten
hopes
and dreams.

I counted the
Black and Whites
as they passed
me by.
I tried to
melt into the
crowd.
The vigilance
and anger in
my heart refused
to walk amongst
the live stock.
For I was raised
as one with
brother Wolf.
I needed to
run on the outside
of their
invisible bindings.

I died everyday
for 3 years .
I pulled
from the *****
then turned to
the poem and
discovered
a new way
to torture
my  mind while
healing the heart.

I dropped
the mask I
had wore
for so many
of these
theatrical
years.

I set about
revealing hearts
blood and fractured
bone.
I ripped the
inside of
me out and
presented it
as treasure.
Only to find
the masses
are indeed
too much
like sheep.
Never
understanding the
manners of
the wolf....

There's Midnight Ravens
along the telephone
wire.
******* suckers
with deep dark
eyes that
see death
before it comes.
These hosts
of the end
pay me no mind
as I pass beneath
their roost.
They rudely go
about their
Raven buisness,
yelling and
******* their way
into the morning.

An unrelenting
bark drums
on from
behind
a white painted
fence.
An insane sound
like an alarm that
no one will turn
off.

I step over a small
cities worth of
ants who are
scrambling
around a crack
in the
sidewalk
clogged with
more frantic
ants.
The great flood
has arrived
in the form of
a timed sprinkler.
And all of
the soldiers
have abandoned
the Queen.

It's early morning
The air has
yet to be
choked out
by the
diesel fuel
and needless
emissions that will
soon began to
smother the
city
.
The faint smell
of fresh fish
makes its way
up the city
blocks from
the waterfront
below.

Old Italian and
Slavic women
stand outside
in their
long day time
night gowns
smoking cigarettes
while watering
the concrete.

I enter the
alley way ,
the smell of
***** diapers,
cheap
laundry detergent
and too
many children
surround an
apartment complex.

As I passed I came
upon the Black Princess
of these streets.
The wisest and
surest of them all
crosses my path.
Her tail held high
and strong,
striding care free,
she looks at me
with her
emerald eyes
and yawns.
She stops near a row
of trashcans that
are lined
up looking like
a modern
day monolith.

She laps at her
paw with slow,
long, lazy
licks as I
pass.
She again fixes me
with those marble green
eyes and lets me
know without
saying a word.
That the alley cat kills
for fun.
Ignores all Gods
by choice
and laughs
at our attempts
to tame it.

My interests
began to fail
me as my
darkness
moved in for
the ****.

I blamed it
all on the
crescent Moon.
The bad
head case
of the
blues I
had been
Harboring
all dam year.

Then settled
on the fact
that it was
just another
washed out
wednesday
night.

Frusciante
once again
amazed
me as he
summoned the
Gods with
his guitar
and
sang to me
through
the magic
of the
radio.

My curiosity
began to
return as
the
comical
thoughts of
suicide
took to
their roost
inside
my head.

There they
always
await like
vultures atop
a San Pedro Cactus.

Patiently waiting
for the
next time
my mind
goes weak.

I came of age
as one of the
many young
knights who would
mature and become
Pirates.
Our kingdom
stretched from
the end of
the world along
the cliff
lined Pacific.
To the
low side of
Alma.
The sprawling
wild canyons
of 6th street,
to the railroad
tracks along
the waterfront.

Daring as we were
we drank straight
from the
bottle while
constantly
losing ourselves
beneath the
shadow of the
Owl.

Our friendship
was a brotherhood
and a hand shake
meant a hell
of alot more
than a greeting.

Black eyes and
stab wounds
worn like
medals earned
in battle.
The ******* was
white as bone
and the girls
were still as
fresh as the
Tangerines we
picked from
our neighbors
yards
in the summer.

The young Pirates
of those days took
all this Town
had to
give.
And even when
beaten down and
hungover.
The need to
experience still
fought on for
more.

The Armor
I wore in
those early
days was
youth.
And that armor
with stood
it all.

Youth can and will
endure many
things.
Almost all things.
All things
that
is but
time.

Meet me in
the park at
the edge
of the world.

After dark
when the Coyotes
and Feral Cats
rule.

Bring us a
bottle
and I'll
bring something
to smoke on.

We'll use it
all and talk about
nothing.

We'll quietly
wonder beneath
the silent,
blameless
night time sky.

And we'll
both do our
best
to forget
this week
that was..

I laid there staring
at the insanely
bright and rude
fluorescent light
that
mocked my suffering.
The cold concrete
floor felt
good against
my screaming aches.

My body was
pleading with the
Gods for just a
taste of what
had been taken
away.

My bowels were as
controllable as
a teen aged
beauty.

With a ****
I brought my
burning face
toward the cool
silent cold metal
toilet.
Ugly yellow bile
that only a tired
and tortured
body could
produce
spewed forth.

A moan and a wipe
then a hollow knock
on the graffiti
covered cell door.
"You made bail"
an almost robotic
sounding voice
says.

With a thousand tiny
swordsman stabbing
at my face I
managed to smile
into my own bile.
I looked at the
mustached uncaring
face in the
small window.
"You look like Death Pal"
The mustache says to me.

I spit the acrid taste
of day old *****
and ****** resin.
Then rise and run my
sweaty palm through
my hair in an
attempt at looking
presentable.

The mustache opens
the door and
as I walk out
I look directly at the
rogue hairs
protruding from
the mustaches nostrils
and say.
"Death Is Beautiful"

The mustache holds
the door as I walk out.
I'm feeling better already

"Oh Yea well so was my Xwife
look at how much trouble
she still causes me".
The mustache says

Every step
I take down
the institutional colored,
masonic checkered floored
hallway causes
my body
to scream with hope.

I can feel the sweat
roll down my face
but I refuse to let
this mustache
see my suffering.

We stop at the
property window,
I sign a half
of an X where it
says signature.

Then before
I gather up
my belongs
and head
back out into the
night I looked
over at the
mustache and said
"You had a Wife?"

I moved the loose
dirt around with the
tip of my shoe.
I played with the coins
and the trusted knife in
my pocket with one
hand and held
on for dear
life to the warm
beer can with the other.

I took a tentative step
forward and let the
toes of my shoes
rest upon the open
air as I enticed death
along the edge of
the world.

I stood that way
for awhile listening
to what the sea
had to tell me.
Watching what
the sky was
giving away
for free.

I drank from the
can,kept my hand in my
pocket and ran a
finger along the edge
of the blade.

I was waiting on the
sunset.
I was waiting for
that daily romance
between the greatest
of all of the Gods.
I was waiting
to witness what has
played out between the
sea and the sun at
the end of each
day since their
lives began.

I came here for
the end.
I came here for that
dimly lit
part of the
day that's just right
for mourning.

I drank as the
two Gods kissed
and one faded into
the other.

I crushed the empty
can in my hand.
Then said my
goodbyes in silence.

I took a moment
to appreciate
it all.
The delicate,bold
colors the setting sun
had left behind
smeared across
the sky.
The Misty air blowing
off the sea.
The beer buzz and
the opiates that
had thus far thinned
my blood.

I could have
stayed there
for hours.
But my beer
was empty
and one can only
say goodbye
for so long
before it becomes
obsessive..

Madness comes to
life by the
light of the
moon.
Takes flight,
and stalks the night
fantastic.

There's a mother
drunk in the
front room
yelling at the cats.

And it's all
just a part of the
sickness that comes
with the drowning
of the sun.

Dying eyes and
shattered lives
find refuge in
the shadows.

Footfalls down
alley ways,
booted steps
in puddles and
on broken glass
sing along with
the crickets and the
sirens.

Somewhere there's
a polluted man
screaming drunken
curses.

With one shoe on
and his shirt on fire
he runs.

Running like only
the free can do.

Burning while
smiling.

Proving to everyone
who sees that
his private madness
has now
become one with
the night.

The distant surf
crashes against the old
Spanish wall.
Sounding like slow
volleys of gunfire
ricocheting off
the jagged cliffs
above.

The sea side stillness
of the night is
disturbed by
my footsteps.
They crunch a
million grains
of sand with
every step
I take along
this jaded
asphalt.

At this hour
all of this is
closed,they put
hours and gates
around
whats free.

Wet feral cats
chase giant
wharf rats all
through the
cavernous
crevasses
between the
break walls
giant stones.

Across the Harbor
on the calm side.
Lights shine bright
from the
giant cranes
and the
deep green
Span dressed in
strands of
Blue.

The lights
reflected off
the still water
and danced
along small wakes
left by
passing boats.

The fumes
of sweet
scented fuel
hides just
beneath the
smell of
salt water and
the rotting
bait fish left
behind by
hopeful
fisherman in
chunks along
the rocks.

A quarter mile
out on the breakwalls end
the Gateway to
the Angels sits
as still and proud
as an ancient Oak.

Its dependable
Lighthouse
vigilance and wisdom
washes over me
as I pass this
night counting
the seconds
between
the shine.

We drove fast,
the way only
the young
can do.
Recklessly and
carefree while
wildly tripping
across that
broken
highway.

I heard the
echo of our
hollow laughter,
felt the
vibration all
through my open
mind.

My mouth remained
dry no matter
how much
Orange juice I
drank.

Along the edge
of the world
the untamed
field of
sage bush and
honey suckle
swayed
like dancing
girls in unison
to the warm
California wind.

We sat and
watched in silence
as the Palm fronds
danced in ballgowns
through the
grand wood
pane windows of
a mansion
across the canyon.

I seen
hand trails that
never ended,
12 packs boxes
that hopped
away like
jack rabbits.

A Coyote on
Paseo whose only
want was to
live.

White owls
crashing through
ancient Oaks
just to let us
know we weren't
all there was.

I've captured  
the image in
memory of
a dozen
smiling faces
of my still free
minded friends
of my youth.

All seeing
things the
way they were
meant to be
seen.

All seeing
things the
way we'd
never
see them
again.

Old friend
across miles of
ocean and
nameless lands
you reached me.

Your face I'll
never recognize
but the words
you shared I'll
cherish.

Fade into the
dawn,
like the broken
clouds behind the
hills Old friend.

Fade now my
kin of the word.
You've left more
than enough
for me to ponder
over.

More than enough
to outshine those
mountains that
give up
the golden light.

More than enough
to light my way
when all my
world is
darkness.

I leave them all to
their drunken joy
while only I alone
float out the door
on a different high.
Past the blood stained sidewalk
I see only hopelessness,
foolishness.
The winners and the losers
both stained the same red.

My heart has slowed,
my blood as thick as the
gummy *****
that has won its love.
Across Nelson st.
I continue forth.
I stop on the warm black top.
I once seen a photograph of
Bukowski smiling while standing
in this very spot.
I stop and try to feel his joy.

All at once I feel thick hands
pushing me on.
"You won't find it here"
A deep guttural voice says
against the back of my neck.
"Nope not here"
A tired weep escapes me.
"I'm here for you Old Boy"
The original Barfly says to me
as my tears become
the whole of me.
"You're losing"
His beer dressed
breath says into my ear.
"I know its hard but you cant stay here."

Bukowskis ghost takes
hold of my shoulders as I weep.
Pushing me on his
voice becomes harsh.
"God dam it this is how it is!"
He stops me dead center
on Nelson st.
"Didn't you read all that I left for you?"
His shouts are slow and raspy.
"I warned you!I warned all of you!"
I can feel his grip
tighten as my
sobbing shoulders sag
in retreat.
"This is how it is!It hurts!"
His shouts tear into the night
"And the returns are mostly nothing!"

His voice lightens
the smell of cigarettes and
cheap cologne are present.
"Go on now."
His voice now a note above a whisper
"Tend to your own demons.
We and the Gods are with you."

A pat on my right shoulder
then Bukowskis ghost
is pushing me on.
I'm a wreak ,
I don't want them to go.
But I know I cant stay.

I know who
I'm going to see
before
I turn around.
I know whose
hand I felt.
My heart begins to
slowly rip.
My tears run out of
flesh and fall onto
the still warm black top.
Tiny explosions billowing
tiny clouds of steam
erupt as I turn and see
Bukowskis ghost
waving a beefy
hand at me from
the corner of
6th and Nelson st.

Next to him stands
my Grand Father,
the man who
broke my heart
when the Gods
decided to take
him away.
He's smiling,
his malice free eyes
just as welled
as my own.
Bukowski puts
his arm around
my long dead
Grand Father
and comforts him as
he smiles that smile
I still long
for in my dreams.

I fall apart.
Then quietly gather
up what little
that is left of me.
I turn away from
the ghosts on Nelson st.
Focus on the
bright lights of the
Warner's marquee
and without looking
back I continue on.

Got a second for me Los Angeles
I am the product of your wish less stars,
shot out street lamps and *** holed streets.
Your trigger happy
cops who stalk your darkened streets like
the true predators they are.

Spare some time for me Los Angeles
I've drank hard and laughed along your
beaches.
Lived on your toxic air.
Turned into a ghost and chased the high all through
your city streets.
I watched the beautiful
people stay beautiful beneath endless California
summers.
I fought the good fight against your
tan shirts within the coldness of your jail.

Stay with me for a moment Los Angeles
The dead are still celebrated throughout your
Palm lined streets.
Your city lights still bring colors
to my dreams.

A little longer Los Angeles
I still can't bear the thought of ever leaving you
even when all the signs around me say I should.

I don't expect any return from you Los Angeles
San Julian showed me the real you.
These scars on the crook of my arm proved the real you.

Trust in me Los Angeles
I'm with you until we fall into the sea.

Believe in me Los Angeles
I'm not an actor on TV.
My name is not on a star to
be spat and stepped upon.
Nor am I a heretic  
living behind a veil within
the comfort of your hills.

Don't forget me Los Angeles
I am the son of your southern most tip.
The son of the town named after the
Saint Pedro.
Whose roots are that of a
Lost Angel.
Lost within the deep darkness
of you.

You got to look
hard for the good,
for the enlightenment.
Its there,
its always been there,
like that pitch fork
shaped birth mark
on the back of your
knee.
Its there,
though you rarely
take the time
or the effort it
takes  to
see it.

Sometimes its in
plain sight,
like the rock fish in
the coral.
Stare into the
pillars of your
memory.
Seek out the
happy times
like bees do
to pollen rich
Marigolds.

You can find it
in Low Bars
and trash laden
streets.
Cheap made up
Women and
in cold locked
down  jail cells.
It may be the
words you find
as you read passed
missing pages of
a book left behind
by the prisoner
before you.

Laugh in their grin
strained faces
then smile to yourself.
Smile for the memories
and know that I
and the Gods
are smiling with
you.

These tears
are constantly
blocking my
view
as I struggle
with these
words
in memory
of
you..

I navigated my
way along the
narrow path
ways  that had been
forever inbedded
by the
footsteps of the
young who've
cut
their path
throughout their
years,venturing as I
once did throughout
these ruins.
The narrow trails
from brave riders
who pedal their way
through the past
and in between all that
has been ruined
snaked all around
and in between
this broken
part of the
city.

I approached the
edge of the world with
caution even though
I feared not death.
I listened to the sound
of the Grand Pacifics anger
as it pounded away
at the end of the earth
a deaths
flight  below me.
Visions of the past
when I was that
braver soul
than I am now
crept up on me.
I took them in
then
put them away
in that dark
corner of my
mind where the
good times
are kept.
I laughed it
all off
and continued on.

I made my way
past the remnants
of all that was
once here before
the sea decided to
take it away.
The only signs left
now are just pieces
of crumbling
asphalt and
graffiti covered
ruins.
These cliffs and
these remnants
of a long ago
sunken part of
this city served
as the untamed
and mostly
unsupervised
playground of
my youth.
I played hard
as that young
adventurous
boy who
I miss so much.
Drank even
harder as a
stubborn  young
and unsure
man along these
cliffs.

I stopped and
took in the
tainted
air.
The smell of the fuel and the city
for now wiped away by
the rolling winds
coming in from the west.
The night was alive
with smaller forms of life,
crickets,barking dogs,
spatting feral cats and
the moans of a beaten man
seeking shelter in a hole
beneath a
broken slab of asphalt.
  The sage bush filled
the nightime air
with blessings.
The salt from
the sea almost
tickled
the nose.

Somewhere
in the
distance a ship
sounded its horn.
Sea lions
barked
in time with the
uneven ringing of
the ancient bell
on the ancient
Red buoy
as it rose and chimed
along with  
the swells
somewhere
in that sea
of darkness.

I left the broken
ruins behind
and made
my way toward
the Park
that had been
brilliantly positioned
along the
rim of
the world.
The memories
of happy times
struggled with
my sadness.
The images of better
times demanded
to be remembered.

I started across the
tear soaked grass
as I walked beneath
beautiful ancient Eucalyptus
and Sycamore trees.
Pine trees that
stood slumped over
like the ancient old
men they were.
I stopped half way
to the middle
as a one eyed calico feral
crossed my path .

I've foraged many
a happy memory
with old
forgotten friends
and long departed
lovers within this park.
Drank when the drinking
was done for fun,
and laughed that
care free laugh
I'll never hear again.
Fought a good mans
fight when the
odds were all
against me.
Evened  it out with
a tool made for killing.
Just one more memory
I now live with.

Now after so
many years
and so much
of what this
life has thrown
before me.
I now come
here only
at night,
alone.
When its only me
the feral cats
and the
thieving raccoon's.
Often times,
I'm comforted
by the
old worn
coat I refuse
to replace,
a cheap bottle
dressed in a brown
paper bag and
a mind still alive
with visions
of other times
than these.

I forget
those horrors
that still force
me out into
the night.
And take a lonely
pull
beneath the
Moons silent
glow.
I toast the night
and those
who dwell
within it.
I worked on the
bottle
while staring
into the
darkness at
nothing.

A smile breaks
free across my
tired face as I
 look to the moon
and realize.
This same sacred
Moon light
that shines upon me
is the same
distant glow
that I know
shines somewhere
upon her.

Its Torture.
The cruel
painless kind.
Torture,
like watching her
from the shadows
as she  
Loves her new Lover
while you're
still so alone.
Within my
mind Ive said
a word then
spelled out
in ryhm.
It sounds so perfect
within my
mind,my quivering lips
mouth the
word in silence.
Im afraid to try,
listen to my struggle
and you shall see
why it
is I hardly
speak.
Its the stammer,
the god given
gift which has
held my
opinions hostage.
Prevented me from
approaching her
and telling her
what she secretly
longed
to hear.
Forced me at times
to remain silent
when there was
so much more I
had to say.
This stammer
provides
cruel children
reason enough to be
even crueler.
I speak around certain
words and
communicate
more with the hands.
Kind souls
finish sentences
for me as I fight
for my voice.
Never  knowing that
their attempt
at being helpful
only drives this silent
knife even deeper.
This Stammer has
barricaded what
I need to say
somewhere
within that dead
and maimed space
between
my mind and
my speach.
I'm tunneling my
way out of this
self contained  
prison.
Word by
written word .
Im slowly
finding
a way for
this silent
and crippled
voice
to finally
be heard.

She closed one grey eye
and watched as
the now
scortched
diamond dust
slowly
settled into a
small
pool at  
the bottom
of the bubble.
A tiny heart pounded
like a turbine piston
hard and relentless
against her bare,
freckled dressed chest.
Small beads of
sweat formed
then dried almost
immeditly
down her bare back
and in between
the small mounds
she wore as *******.

She closed her right eye and
held the wand
up towards the
bare bulb light.
She watched transfixed
as the once delicate,
man made,
toxic concoction
that was now
a heated puddle
of stimuli cooled.
Then brought forth images
of great stretching snow flakes
and shattered
diamonds reaching
all throughout
the bubble tipped
tool  she had
taken in as a lover.

And there will
be no sleep
tonight for the
Down Town dealers
and this delicate
lost soul with
diamonds
in her  eyes.
Theres too many
memories that
need to be
tamed ,
too many
nightmares to
give in to sleep.
Stay awake ,
create more time
and consume every bad
thing that's before
you.

Seek out a cold
place in the night,
then stare at the heavens
while  shaking
a clenched fist upon
the serpents.
As our world reveals
more another
falls,picks up
a tool  and
turns to what works.

Choosing the
easy way out
is never an easy
decision.
As crystals cool
then melt again
another decision has
turned to
death in the
form of a captive
life without
freedom enough to
care or breath.

She walked toward
the window and
stood naked
and high before
the city.
A tear tumbled
and dried
before it ever
left her face.

Another diamond
obsessed ,dreamless
dreamer,
waiting out the
night,dealing with
the madness and
sharing none
of her horrors
with the shadowed
world she was forced
to haunt.
Living every hour
wide  awake,
wired and full
of pills.
Desperate for some
other place thats
far away from here.

Slowly
and quietly
dying an older
souls death.
Far before
what should
have been
her peaceful
and merciful
kind of ending.

The
hardest
pill to
swallow
is the
one
you
know
you
need

There is'nt very many places
that can come close to the
perfection that a summers night
brings about on the streets
of San Pedro.
Its all still so raw,
on the lower side of town ,tenants sit
outside on stoops in front of
cheap hotels made for cheap people.
Feral cats stalk the wharf rats
who hide out within the  
rising mounds of fishing
nets that sit in large heaps along the
guano stained docks.
The Mad houses all have ancient air
conditioning, all of which only seems to
push the Mad a little bit closer
to that empty they all long to
fill.
Teen aged lovers walk hand in hand
past the bars and the liquor stores
along Pacific Ave.
The smiles on there clean faces
prove that they are still oblivious
to the horrors that love will one
day bring.
Drinking men and Die hard wasted
Women stand outside of windowless
drinking holes *******
on cigarettes, their silent stares
warn all who pass
that what little they had to lose
is already gone.
Most of these sets of eyes and
heads of hair,
have never heard the nightbird
sing,or watched transfixed
as the blood ran
along the gutters like
mountain run off
in the spring.

I find it comforting to know
that these summer night adventures
dare only to venture out
for this briefest of season.
I need them gone from my darkness,
they are not of the night,
even one as perfect as this.
Their clueless smiles and their
false joys cast a foul shade of light
upon the realness and the honesty
of this summers night.
Only lost souls like myself,
the street walking ******  and
the murderous feral cats know
when and where the magic truly died.
Only those with broken ties
and broken hearts can look
to the shot out street lamps
and know they are home.
If only these programed minions
would leave me and the mad ones,
me and the ******,
me and the shot out street lamps
and the flea bitten battle hardened
wharf  cats
to all of what we call our own.
They come out of their cages and
walk along the same gum stained
sidewalks as we who have sacrificed
it all to become as one with
the night.

They see all of the same neon signs
and graffiti covered walls as I do,
but that's where their tiny
little minds locked into their
tiny little worlds stop.
They cant comprehend and
I don't have enough wine
or enough patience
to waste my time
on programed minds.
Let them cheer each other on
let them guide each other to their deaths.
Leave us to this night and the millions
of California summer nights to come.
Let them lock themselves away
when these summer nights shift
to fall.
I and the night
cringe at their presence.
The feral cats release
a deep menacing warning
as these invaders pass
them by.
Their place is locked
securely behind
some gates,somewhere
on that hill.
A place I dare not to
venture,a place built
on the blood labor
of the poor,a place full
of their lies.
Lies and forced false ways
that draw
deep blood toned scars
upon the honesty
and the  integrity of this
sacred summers  night.

I kept my
blood shot eyes
securely hidden behind
my day killing shades
as I took long careful steps
over the flatend headstones.

I looked to the shadowed
areas of the hillside
graveyard,
soon found refuge beneath
a sorrow slumped eucalyptus.
I pulled the pint from
my pocket and took a pull,
then planted myself
down along side the dead.

The whirling Santa Anas brought
forth the aroma of the
marigolds,and dandelions that
had been left for the departed.

I concentrated on the pint,
I thought hard about my
decision to stop
chasing the dream and devote
it all to chasing the Dragon.

It hurt at first when I awoke
to the fact that my dreams
were not my own.
And this life and all it includes
was as false as the Gods we pray to.

I was surrounded by the dead
but the dead paid me no mind.
The dead were too busy being dead
to do anything else but lay there
within the earth in silence.

A memory invaded my thoughts
like a raiding army hungry for
wine and flesh.
The times before all of this,
the times when I felt the need
to be seen with the crowds.
The times when I followed
the flow of the fools and applauded
with them all,
bought gifts with them all
and celebrated a false celebration,
all in time and step  
with the fools.

That memory of me
when I was less then I am now,
following the fools ,
just as blind as they remain on this
very day.
As part of the crowd
I made no impact on it all.
I stood not
apart but Within.
Engulfed and smothered with lies.
I became too much like the
other guy and his best friend.
The smiling head on the television,
and the digitized voice on the radio.
I thought not on my own but
as one with the machine.

All of that person is gone now,
dead and hopefully buried
just as these fading bones
who now surrounded me.
These silenced spirits who
are the only crowd I wish to join.

Its a lonely travel that I've turned
to,it didn't take much to walk away
from it all once I awoke to this.
I left my shadow behind,
and threw their goals away
as I took on the
task of casting flames
upon the serpent.

I never knew how wrong I was
until that veil of television and
radio,material wealth and
religion was pulled sternly from
my mind.
I found my comfort
among the dead whose silent
cheers applaud me.

They know now as they lay
deep and dead
that all of it was a lie.
Their lives were never lived,
their decisions not their own.

I went at the bottle
and played host to death.
And I wondered
were they the winners,
the lucky ones who had found
a way out of this place
where death looms over head
and the struggle to go
on living is a war fought everyday.
This place where good men are
falsely accused and artist are brushed aside,
where sports are king and the lies
are told as truths.

I find my days are clearer
living on this side of the coin,
but easier they'll never be.

I have awoke to this.
To this and all of the lies
that have come from this.

Once you have awoke to this
theres  no going back to sleep.

I can't forget you,
I'll always weep at
the thought of you
while drunk on emotion.

I wait until I'm alone to
look at the photographs
I've managed to salvage.
I selfishly cherish the memory
of our times together.

I stand fixed in the thick green
grass and stare at your name
engraved in the marble.
I always run my fingertips
across each letter.

I include you in all that I
do,I be the Plato
to your Socrates.

I drink more now,
always the cheap stuff,
mostly alone,
and forever shadowed by
your memory.

This still  new relationship
with LOSS has already
changed me as a person.
I've accepted the fact that
you're gone, but it doesn't mean
that I'm OK with it.

I look forward to sleep,
thats when I see you.
That's when I hear you.
Can you hear me?
See me?
Feel how much I miss
You?
Probably not but that's
Ok,all you ever did was
Care for me,
Loved me.

What a selfish fool I've
been,
I am.
Even now all I really want
Is you back in order for
me to Love,
for me to care for...

Vengeance sat beside
me on a sorrow filled
Saturday night.

We wasted time ,
spent our nights
drinking and high.
Fruscusciantes words
singing magic in the air
and the sound of the
passing world and
the passing cars
outside my window
for company.
I think I was drunk,
and I know I was High,
or maybe it was the pills,
oh so many pills ago.

My left nostril was clogged,
and I could still taste
that sour numbing drip
at the back of my throat.
How long ago has it been
since I crossed that line.
How many years have passed
since I broke through the
fog and came to this.
My days run parallel  to these
nights that bring a
distorted form of peace
while the madness of the
world sleeps and dreams
of nothing but having more.

Vengeance be my company,
Vengeance keeps me moving.
And Vengeance be my
blanket when I'm cold,
my fruit when I'm hungry,
and my Old friend when
I'm lonely.
Vengeance burning
beneath my tattooed
skin.
Burning bright in colors
like the
falling leaves
in October.

Peace one day shall
wash away this madness.
My nights will no longer
be spent with my
shaking hand
wrapped tightly
around the
bottle.
No Longer will I feel the
need to pass my days
while wasted and
my troubled nights alone.
Vengeance one day shall
call upon me,
awake me from my
stupor and
allow me to take flight,
then send my heart
astray.

I took her on her
first real trip
during the last real
summer of my life.
We chased the sour
tasting caps
with a sweet tasting
two dollar wine.
Then followed our
hearts to the sea.
We sat along the
rim of the world
and watched the sun
burn into a thousand
different shades of
red.
She concentrated on
the white caps and
the wind,
she said that the
wind spoke
to her,but never
told me what it said.
She cried when she
spoke of a childhood
memory,
then laughed at the
fact that her tormentor
was dead.
I seen ripples in
the air and
when we kissed
I felt the softness
of her hair.
We ecscaped from the
world for those few
precious hours.
Then we came down
from our now
brightened world.
and returned to it all,
our minds forever anew.
Our thoughts forever
changed,
nothing has ever been
the same,
since that
day we laughed
and tripped
on the edge
of the world.

My grade school
burned down
twice.
Once in the 1930's
then again  in
the 50's.
They rebuilt,
there were two
large black and white
framed photographs
of the school houses
before both fires
hanging in the
main hallway.
At some point in
the reconstruction
someone had decided
on two boys
restrooms.

The one at ground level
was always clean.
There were small white
tiles and fresh blue paint.
It always smelled like
pine cleaner,
never ran out of
paper towels.
There was always
sweet smelling
liquid soap in the
shinny silver dispensers.
There were doors with
shinny silver
locks on the stalls.
It was a timeless
space,
pristine and somehow
preserved.
Free and unscathed
by the ugliness of
the world.

Then there was the other
one.
The restroom below
ground in the basement.
There were ground
level windows
with round wire cages
over them.
The view of the
***** untied
tennis shoes
attached to
saggy socks and
scabbed knees.
The children
ran about
with purpose
over every inch
of the playgrounds
hot black top
as I'd try
to guess who's
feet were who's.
There were no doors on
the stalls,
yellow stains beneath
every leaky
******.
Smears of rust around the
faucets ,
a coarse hand soap
in the often broken
dispensers.
More fit for prisoners
than students.
It smelled like
**** and was always
cold.

I don't know why
one was always cleaner
than the other.
Maybe it was an
unwritten janitor
law.
Maybe they seen it
as somehow lower
than the other.
I always chose the
basement restroom.
It just seemed more
natural to me,
it made me feel strong,
made it all feel more real.

Now after so many
hardships as I sit with drink
in hand or lay down
while high on some drug
I can't seem to  help
but look back and
remember.
Then ponder the question.
"Have I always been
meant to live in such a *****,
harsh environment,
even way back then?"

It's blackened,
like the eyes
of the scavenging gulls.
It beats in
irregular patterns,
much like the native
upon the sacred drum.
And on slow mornings
it gives to pause.
Like the wanderer pauses
to look back across the
flames and at all that
has burned with the
Love and the
sun kissed days.
All that are now only
scares upon the
memory.
All so long ago.

Any fool can laugh
amongst the crowd.
Any blank slated
mind can learn to
be better.
Almost all the virgins
left in our world
will one day know
lust.
Theres not too
many who can cry
comfortably in the
dark.
There aren't very
many originals
anymore.
Not just any
one can grow
fond of fear.
There hasn't
been many men
who can take it
like Bukowski
did.
And there's little to
none of the openness
,the fondness one
can only create when
the mind collides with
the soul and pours it
all out with the
hand that holds
the pen.

I  waited out the
night,
I sat cross legged
and high
and watched
as the sun rose
in the east
and created
shapes
out of
total
darkness.

Silent is the world
while high on *******.
Delicate are the choices
made at 2AM.
Forgetful is what one
becomes when all
they wish upon
is death.
Lost is the soul
of the addicted ones
who long no more
to be home.