These nights
are like
Harlots.

Each one
promising
a new type
of fantasy,
to be reused
over and
over.

Without  
any type
of caressing
or shame.

Hair as black as the shadows who chase her.
Skin a deathly shade of pale.
Lips so naturally red her kisses taste of red wine and at times red blood.

There were times to celebrate and times to come together.
Times to steal away and times to watch them **** while sharing our pop corn and whisky dressed soda.

How I loved her.

Guitar players write Poetry with guitar strings.
Prisoners engrave crude long lost lovers names in their flesh.

Count your lot then throw it away.
Nothing here is real and when they tell you it is just agree and walk away.

Choose your fate, we were all created.
Your cousin may be a monkey but mine is of the flesh of man.

I didn't know God until I figured out the lies and accepted it was flat.
And yet I still Dam all of your religions.
I probably won't be saved.

They kept the inner city high
and the suburbs well
protected.

The cops all called  the
kids by their street name.
The kids called all the
cops Officer Bacon.


Runaways gravitate toward
the center of the city.
It was passing through the outskirts that
often got them killed.

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've been strengthen by these
defeats and I've loved
several different women
with all of my heart.
All of whom I wish
to never see again.

Alone is when I'm at
my greatest and alone
I am with these
demons who influence my
world.

This hand keeps reaching
and coming up empty.
And we are all getting
older,so much older.

The promises fall short
and the hopes all began
to fade like a dying star
far off in the
Pleiades.

**** it all away
and consume,
buy it all up and attempt
to fill that empty space
that is your soul.

I'll continue on my
way with this .
I'll continue on my
way alone and only
on rare occasions will
I be happy.

And that is how
it's meant to be.

There is no set price to
its worth.
It is not polished jade,
poached ivory
nor a vase dated
by a dynasty.

It is hearts blood drawn
to hearts blood.
And it provides a warmth
that no poppy can
produce.

It drives some mad,
until they're left
peering into the bottle,    
pounding the polished
wood top for more.

The heart is truly
unbreakable.
If only it could
crack just
a little.
If only the hollow in the
chest could be dumped full
of the good times
and left just as that.

When did forever
equal a year,
how could something
so good
end up in tears.

I wish to rip my
heart out,
bury it in a wooden
box deep
below the earth.
Hide it away
from its need
to be loved.

I lived alone and
alone was good.
I did not seek it out
it found me.
.
And the torture
lays not
within the
waiting.

There is nothing
Of this earth.
Nothing more
Important.
Nothing more
meaningful.

Than what we
Create with no
Outside influence .

The Gifts we share.
The Arts.

The bare bulbed cell lights broke through
the bars along the top floor of the old city hall.

My dreams locked in a battle with my memories
all the while it was the Poppy who kept me strong.

They cut their blocks with water and magic
the way the Mayans and the Templars once did.

Your likeness set in bronze
sit's ageless in the concrete.

Sirens yell in another part of the city
as your worries are left struggling
long after you've moved on.

There's not enough damage here,
come back and see me once she's gone.

I did'nt leave the pistol for too long and
I did'nt lie to her when I told her it was'nt enough.

Kept my word and spent my riches.
God knows I would'nt have it any other way.

Spend my final days puffing on forgetfullness.
I found my salvation in an ***** den.

I promised her I'd come back one day.

The life times worth
of scar tissue made
the shape of
my head look funny.

My hands
My poor arthritic scarred up hands.
The tip of my pinkie finger
was bitten off by a
Puerto Rican kid
when I was 10.

He spit it out
but we couldn't find it.

I dated local girls and
even thought I fell in Love.

I often see my first Love
and the one after that.
Still see them both
around town today.

We don't have much to say.
I can't complain.
I had them both
when they were good.

They won't have
nothing to do
with me today.

I got my first tattoo in a
California prison
Lost my first Love
before I came home.

I used to listen to
Rock n Roll music.

Small venues with
loud Los Angeles Bands.

Outdoor festivals with
California Girls and
Drugs that won't **** you.

Today California's burning,
the Drugs don't seem to
be working and
I can't listen to music
without breaking
down in tears.

The orderly runs a silent dust mop across the masonic checker board hallway floor.

Sounds like machines beeping, a voice on an intercom calling for someone by their title, silent muffled weeping, elevator doors ringing your floor, the rise and fall of a mechanism keeping someone alive.

The small chapel no bigger than a large pantry,
two rows of oak carved pews.
Italian made cedar crosses and small stain glassed reliefs adorn each of the walls.

Candles burn and flowers die and nothing we've done here means anything where we are all going.

The Jaguar sits still and unfinished in the carport.
None of us can bring ourselves to finish what he started.

We get but only one chance to live, one chance to experience love.
So many of us end up living a full life of pain.

He asked how I felt the night that he gave in.
I told him I felt cheated and that nothing here will ever be the same

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.

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..

The rains
crept
up on
Los Angeles.

Right along
side the
silent
morning
fog.

And the air
was clear
and devoid of
that ugly scar
of pollution.

Within the days
the ugliness,
my ugly cough
and the hurtful air
returned.

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.

The Harbor freeway was without the congestion and the gridlock that made this highway famous.
Empty freeways demand speed and in Los Angeles everyone's in a hurry with somewhere to go.

It was a rare sight in a city full of men and their machines
A rare sight that was quietly becoming normal.

The lack of cars made the otherwise thick layer of ***** brown smog become a minor smear on an otherwise beautiful blue Southern California day.
With the changing of the guard the nameless planes with their exaggerated white lines across our skies magically returned.

There's more of us noticing things today than any other time before.

To the far West Venice is dying and the beach has become a refugee camp full of tents and blue tarps all wasting in the wind.
Handball courts now occupied by old bikes, tents and an array of useless garbage someone calls their property.
And the California girls' no longer come here to tan.

The girls on Figueroa stand half naked on 64th street waving like debutants at the lonely men as they window shop for *** from the safety of their vehicles.
The girls here never tell you their real name and all the men are called John.

The Gang members in the Hoods on the West side and in the Varrios and the Projects on the East all use Graffiti as a way to convey their threats to one another.
The Taggers bright, bold pieces bring colors to the otherwise grey concrete freeways.

Downtown is nowhere you want to be without a million dollars or a side arm and a reason.
They gave Skid Row up to the people and the graffiti then watched in horror as it grew into what it has become today.

South Central continues to bleed red, brown, blue and black.
Curbside motive candles dot the city corners like mile markers along the highway.
There's been far too much death to ever mention peace here.

Hollywood is slowly dying and Melrose is at 50% capacity with robberies happening almost everyday on Rodeo.

The Cranes along the Harbor stand like giant monuments to a God no one prays to anymore.
And there's a lot less Cargo trucks on the road today then any other time before.

Yet we are told to "Stay home ,we'll pay you to do so".
While outside our city is dying and there is no where to spend the money we're given anyway.

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.

.
They tell us what is and isn’t fantasy.
Instantly numbing the mind of any hope
of any chance at creating something
pure of all their rules.

I can’t say I knew it or I seen it coming.
I can’t say I’ve never been here before.
And I still can’t figure out why I would
ever want to come back.

Its the signs and symbols not the rulers and the laws.
The veil is lifting and what’s hiding beneath will leave
you questioning everything until your mind goes weak
and you give in to the eye.

It went from Stein to Stain and none of us even noticed.
Mirror Mirror to Magic Mirror
Who's playing these games
with our minds.

When the light is revealed don’t expect to see me.
They’ll want my tongue and my writing hand.
Both of which I'll manage to live without.

It's better this way.
I'm better off as a
spectator to the
way everyone
else finds happiness.

They dress their
best and pray on
sundays.
I drink in stale
clothes and laugh
out loud in the
open park in
the dead of night.
High and at one
with the
thieving masked  
lords of the night.

Theirs are goals
and mine are troubling
questions that cause them
discomfort.
I try to pull on
the  answers
no one wants
to really
hear,
not even
myself.

They all long for
love and praise.
Heart shaped
chocolate filled
boxes is what
represents their
artificial idea
of love.

I touch not on
this subject.

I chase away my madness
while drunk and too
high to keep up with
my own shadow.

You'll find me in
the darkness if I let
you.

I'll have the pistol in
my pocket, a bottle
in my hand
and this dead
end love on
the mind.

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

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.

Bring it on
I'll take it.
Live through it
all.
I've come this far.
This is all
I
got to
go
back to
now.

I lived through
the seclusion,
the torture.

I'll be the one that
they lost while
you be the one
who has won.

In order to perfect
you must fail.
I'll be the failure.
Not everyone is meant
for success.
You succeed
I'll regress.

You be the one
to give them
'grandchildren
and a perfect
story to
tell their friends.

I"ll be the secret
that's avoided.
The tragic story
about the one they
lost.
The story
no one 's
brave enough
to tell.

You go ahead and
hate me.
Let me be the let down
in your life.

I'll still Love you.
Look up to you
from a distance.

It's meant to
be this way.
I got all that
I've been through
coming.

Funny thing
is I'd probably make
it in your shoes
but you
could never
make it
in mine.

I deserve all
of this and
I need to keep
it this way.

So go ,
be all that
I never could.
I wouldn't have
it any other
way.

The spells I cast
have been achieved
by others.

Leave me to
my dullest needle.
This sting only
numbs the pain.

Candle light improves
my perception.
Silhouettes live out
their time in all
dimensions.

Time carries itself
upon the
wings of memories.

I only try and make
sense to me.

Loving and Leaving
are old reissued
beginnings in
my world.
Freedoms momentarily,
forever has never
been longer than
a year.

She promised me
almost everything,
and yet the
Dragon won my
heart.

I did not look
up as she walked
herself out.

I watched time
watching me
and made
no effort
to change it.

Can you
write
without the
drugs?

Create
without the
sadness?

Make
something
without
losing
it all first?

I probably
can but
we'll
never know.

Promises
assure
me
nothing
is
sincere.

I wish to watch them bleed and pay for their selfish deeds.
I want to hold her hand as we watch their mansions burn .
I need to know the last of their kind has been brought to their knees.
I long for the children in the sweatshops to be allowed a little fun.
I plan on taking from the filthy rich and keeping it.

It's not the fear that brings
about the images the painter
paints.
The words the writer writes.
The shapes the sculptor
sculpts.
Or the sounds the
musician brings.

It's the knowledge that there is more
than the trash filled gutters.
The windowless bars and
loveless street girls.
The foreign commerce you are
expected to buy and the life
you've been trained to sink
yourself  into while still dreaming
of oh so much more.

Some gifts shine and cast rainbows
in the light and some gifts expose the
darkness we all know is there but still
refuse to see.

The masses look to make a Hero
out of the artist.
They set prices on the works
and attempt to understand the
view.

This craft here comes in waves.
All there is to do is
try to keep up with the demands
of this ongoing battle
for time.

Time to sacrifice more
to the machine.
Less time for all the bad things.
More time for the gift.

My need to shy away from
the crowds in order to
create hand woven magic in the
dark.
The need to challenge Platos
view.
The need to feel the numbing
cold of Dantes Hell.
The need to live out my days
in Bukowskis harsh vision
of the world.

The gears of their clocks
keep grinding.
Grinding like a junk yard tweekers
teeth.

My remaining pages remain
unfilled and the sun has already
set on my tomorrow.

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

The strait of California
returned as the Gods ripped
the golden state free
from America.

The Shamans cried for
New Albion as the great
city fell into the sea.

Above the cries, the falling rain
and the crashing sounds of
what can only be called The End
came the voice of certainty.
"There's no stopping this."

The waters above and
the waters below all
moved with the
deep lakes, the crashing falls
and the thawing glaciers.

Thunder clouds were just
to block our view.
The snaking rivers and
the gentle streams
flowed with the winter run off.
Flooded city streets,
washed out state highways.

California will once again
be an island soon.

The Law of reversal rules
people's lives if they say
its "This" it's almost always "That."
2012 or 21.
My Fathers
biggest fear was always
them coming for our guns.
My Remington and my.45,
those ******* in their holes
all waiting on us to die.

The canals and the sand bars
somebody big had to make.
The L.A river and those who live in it.
Sinkholes and hail storms.
All fall into endless wells
that flow on forever
keeping everything clean.

If you look for the signs you
can't help but see them.
Like rain in Los Angeles on
a Memorial day weekend.

So it was and the Gods
kept their promise
and everything was gone.

Standing on top
of an ancient Titan with
every anwser to
every question ever asked.

In this moment amongst
the debris the bodies
and the ever moving rushing waters
the man who knew everything
suddenly felt Small.

With so many lies
and so much deceit.

I began to question
this thing called truth.

This glorious thing
that so many have
been deprived of.

The lies have ruled for
so long now most know
no other way.

The truth has become
what so many refuse
to believe in.

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.

These days run away
like criminals who
flee.
Taking with them
all of what I never
did.

This regret remains
fresh just as honey
never ages.
And there's that blood
red stain where my need
for the hurt leaked
onto the floor.

Somewhere beneath
those times and
these years lays
a reason that's fighting
to be understood.

These losses are as
sad as Pluto
losing its status.
And yet I still
believe there's
a masterpiece
somewhere within
all of us
waiting to be
freed.

We weren't equals and we knew this.

He cited what reference he
could find as his answers.

I looked to memories and
hand written notes.

He couldn't believe the textbooks could all be wrong
and the professors all victims of the same lie.

I couldn't believe he didn't know
what the Firmament was
or who Admiral Byrd was.

I spoke of God and his creations.
I told him the love God had for him
was everlasting.

That's when I lost him.

Like any Genius with a high IQ
he scoffed and stopped paying attention
once the truth become too much for him.

I'm a documented failure
according to their thick,
dog eared records.

My inability to remember their lessons
or go along with their beliefs.
All stored away in a dusty locked
file cabinet that
I"ll never be able to see.

It's easy to label the young
for the young depend on the old
for knowledge.

How can I be such a failure
when all they ever taught me
was lies.

Mothers smoking ***** from a bamboo pipe in the morning.
She peels bananas for breakfast with her hands that are never clean.
Father died in a rich mans mine.
Mother has found an Uncle to beat her on the weekends when the Wine runs out.
Uncle make sister touch his monster in the mornings.

The speakers of His word bring salvation and sugar cane husks for the children after class.
All the parents miss the sermon and drink early morning wine on a sunday.

In the cities and the suburbs girls chose the guys who can buy them jewels and give them children.
Security is what matters who cares how you feel.
A thousand smiles smile back as she holds the sparkling stone high for everyone to admire.

He felt safer with his sister towing buckets in the mine.
His Uncle didn't like it but the money bought more drink.
They always needed children to venture deeper in the Earth.
Slender hands and small bodies pulling Diamonds from the mines .

She secretly admired the promise on her finger as he pounded away on her ripe smelling flesh.
It takes a special kind of someone to fake it all for Gems .
Men so lonely they convince themselves it's Love ,when they really know it's Diamonds.

There's something about stones that take lifetimes to form .
A Gem so strong only the hands of a child can set them free.

   What a symbol for promise ,for Love and forever.
A stone pulled from the Earth by way of child labor and sometimes child blood.

They educated us in a scientific,
reasonable world
full of scientific
unreasonable lies.

Now that we are adults
we can go back and question
the things they told us as children.
And realize that they were lying to us.

We were deceived.

We live in a supernatural world
created by God.
There is a spiritual war going on.

Men act as Gods
As God stands silent and watches
as we destroy ourselves again..

I started writing myself  little notes and some long letters around
the time the continents began to shift.

All I asked was for her to spell it.
I knew it would either change her life forever  or scare her into believing it wasn't true.

How much longer can the lies rule when the truth of things is nolonger deniable.

If there is no space and we are all there is why not open the gates and let us all live free.

I'll be the criminal who gave up all that lays beyond the ice.
A Shangrala where evil men have made the rules and our missing children are sent like cattle for the leaders to enjoy.

If I didn't stick to the Drink induced Poetry or the simple short stories talking about Love and Drugs.
I knew that they would eventually come for me.

My Allies be the pistol, the lighter,the mirror,the tin,the bottle of ***** and the broken girl who slept like a corpse curled up on the love seat.

I left the girl who left so long ago a note.
I started it with "I love you"and ended it with
" If they ever tell you I've gone mad know that I haven't.
I just got tired of fighting the lies and only dreaming of the truth..."

We had some of the best talks,
some of the best laughs.

I got some of the best advice,
and we shared some things
we always considered secrets.

I forgave him and
he accepted me and all my flaws.

And I spent hours and days
there beside his death bed.

Watching as he bravely faced
the empty shadow of death.
The tears all fall in silence
as what's left of him fades
like slow clouds behind the mountain.

Leaving behind his broken vessel
for us to cry over, for us to miss.
For the caretaker to burn all away,
for my Mother to toss into the waters.

The dog won't leave the impression
he left on his bed.
The cat wonders the house
checking all the rooms.

His keys and his wallet still sit
on the counter.
The dog still won't leave his room.

I'm sitting in the kitchen but I'm not really here.
My brother hasn't said a word.
My uncle has'nt stopped drinking.
Mother keeps on crying
and there ain't a dam thing I can do.

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.

In these times it takes nothing
more than a ray shining
through a window to
ignite the flames of war.

Those lying talking
heads who play on your
emotions while sticking
to the script and dishing
out the fears.

The Politicians who guide our fate
and ship our young to fight in
foreign wars in far away
foreign lands.

Our leaders are like small children
upon dangerous weapons.

And death rides with them.

Only a fool
could believe
there was nothing
waiting on me
on the other side
of all of this.

It could
be riches or
could be death.

Or maybe even a brown
haired beauty
with amber eyes
and blood red lips.
A touch so gentle
the cracks on these prison
walls began to weep
at her touch.

A fresh bottle already opened
next to a clean glass
already filled.
With an ice cube afloat
that has melted just enough
to chill the sting.

Or a pistol locked
and loaded with
malice and
****** left in its
wake.

A friendship yet to
be formed or a
lonely bar keep with
a half truth tale
to tell.

A moment of calm to be felt
at the sight of the
theater that is
the sky and the
sea at sunset.

I'd be lying only
to myself if I thought
there was nothing beyond these
deadened hours
and wasted days.
Nothing waiting as patiently
as a poor man in a well fare
line,for me.

It could be anything
or anyone of those things.
Or it could be death in the form
of a ****** fix,
a vengeful enemy who's
had too much to
drink and too many
rounds for him to miss.

A drunk out for a
Sunday drive,
or a strong enough
wind that felt
the need to fall an
ancient oak
right on top of me.

My visions alone
can't
help this need
to be so set
apart.

Apart without
ever losing sight
of the word
to come.

Far enough
ahead to
see all it is they
**** to protect.

High along
the edge of
our earth,
high enough to
see across the
flat horizon.

Far enough to
see the
secrets  beyond
the ice.

There is such a
thing as paradise.

Its not on any
of our maps.

They gave us space and
kept paradise a secret.

Its only spoken of
in the mystery schools.

Its the promise of paradise
that keeps
powerful men in line.

They populate paradise
with the dead and
the missing .

The promise of paradise
is only for those on the
side of the serpent.

Or those willing to raise their
young inverted.

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.

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.

Our time here is lacking.
The gifts have all been given.

Withheld by men in long coats and deep hats.
The mysteries have yet to be explored.

We are what makes up this space in time.
History will be decided by actions set forth by men not Gods.

We are in the time of the deprived.
Our time will never know the gifts of Magic.

Truth in our age is but a story better told by Liars.
It's a mass hypnosis that very few can comprehend.

The way of things will one day come to an end .
We are living in the age of Deceit.