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...

**** dribbled down
the shaking leg
of the angriest dog
in the neighborhood.
He stood
whimpering and
shivering within his
own fear driven
*****.

She paid him
no mind as
her presence
brought
a chill to the
otherwise warm
Southern California
night time breeze.
Her shadow engulfed
the cockroaches,and the
mice as they scrambled
and attempted to
flee.
She left them belly up
on the concrete
as her darkness
move on.

The teen aged
lost boys and girls,
****** harder on their
spit glued
joints and
their generic brand
cigarettes
as they silently
watched her stalk
from
across the street.
They would all
be dead
within days from the
infections
her presence brought
forth.

A Flock of
screaming birds
exploded from a tree
as she moved her
darkness beneath
their night time
roost.
The moon sighed
as the fleeing,
panicking birds
began to fall
from the sky
like stones
and land all
around her
as she floated
forth.

The clouds up ahead
retreated into themselves,
and the Milky way
grew tighter
as a new born star
forced its shine away
and took refuge
within the dark
empty matter
of the heavens .

All of the Earth
and the
living Gods in orbit,
all moved a
bit more carefully
as news of her arrival
began to spread.
Spread like murderous
wild fire across a dry
and parched
landscape.

The city blocks
did not stand a chance.
Their concrete
cried beneath her
bare blank lined
feet.
Tiny clouds of
dust and
fear trailed her
like broken bodies
across a losing
battlefield.

The skinny lady
with the line-less palms
and the timeless existence
made her way
toward the sea.
All at once the
Pacific receded into
an unexpected
low tide
as she began to
cross the empty
sandy beach.
She bowed her head
and watched as the
grunions flopped
and died before
her.
Down the beach
two smiling dolphins
beached themselves
as the waves
brought forth
a drowned
sea lion who had
suddenly
forgot how
to swim.

Sadness she
knew nothing
of ,alone was
the only way
she had ever known.
Her duty on earth
and
in the heavens
took precedence over
all.
She knew only
one thing about
the living,
they all lived
in order to
die.
Her duty was
to gather the living
who were ready
to enter her world
of the dead.
A world more
filled with the
empty then any of
the living had ever been
told.

If by Halloween night things
have still yet to be.
I'll consider myself lucky
if there's no October surprise
for me.

Imagine if there was more to our world than what we've been trained to believe.
Imagine if it was all a Lie,the Heroes they create for us and the goals they've claimed to have already reached.
Imagine if all of that knowledge you forced yourself to remember turned out to be nothing more than words to keep you from asking questions.
Imagine a world as inhabitable as our own and as close as a vacation destination.
Imagine your mind free of the trained way and your thoughts as open as the ones I share with you today.
Imagine if you could an infinite plain with pockets of life like a honeycomb with worker bees there to protect it from the destructive hand of man.
Imagine if there was more,more mountains and clean rivers. Species to be discovered, unknown fruits to be eaten and medicinal plants whose cures can save us all.
Imagine all of this or Imagine just a few lines of this.
How would our leaders react to the fact there is more land.
Would they share it with the masses for us to seek out and destroy with our constant want for more?
Imagine if it was all a Lie from the man on the moon to the man you call your savior.
Imagine a ball floating in a space of nothing while spinning thousands of miles an hour with billions of living beings feeling nothing of this spin and seeing nothing of this ball.
The Earth is flat there is more land and thats a fact you will soon be forced to deal with.

They made it difficult to hear
a man speak of his heart.

It was the world as it truly is that set this free.
It let me in while breaking me out.
It saved me.
It showed me.
It allowed me to be.

Those Greats before me
how I long to one day be.

I don't need a Master .
How many more out there like me.

I cry when I write .
That's when my mind allows me to see.

Drop down ,take a knee.
There's water all around us .
Its above us.
And bellow us.
Its almost all of you.
And its almost all of me.

It wasn't hard to walk away.
It was the history that made me want to stay.

I never believed in what their books had to say.
If everything is a Lie then somewhere
there must be truth.

Beneath the Firmament that's where I'll stay.
Worry more about what your heart tries to say.

They make it uncomfortable to hear what it is
a mans heart has got to say.

Do not
let any
of this
define me.

None of
this is
written with
a purpose.

These words
just are,
there is
no goal.

It's all
at the
mercy of
random
events.

Its always in those last hectic
days leading up to the
next celebration.
Either on the Eve of that day
or a few days before that.

At the neighborhood bar
or parked along the coast at sunset.
At their mothers same old house
or one of the liquor stores
still open at two.

You'll see that face or faces of those who
were smarter than you,
those who were braver than you.

Those who took that first chance
they had and moved as far away
from this place as they could.

Those with the same city name tattooed
in the same spot as you on
that same drunken night so long ago.

Their eyes have less anger and '
their conversation is less about
the past and more about what's
beyond this place.

Something about their faces,
their wives, their twin children or
the true concern they have in
their questions.

The grief they express at finding out
another has passed with the year.
The questions they ask that you
purposely avoid answering .

That feeling you get at still being here
like a cigar store Indian or a
'Welcome Home' sign from the
last time they were here.

There's something in them
that died in you so long ago.
Something that grew in them
that'll  never grow in you
as long as you're here.

Something they found somewhere else.
Something you've been looking for ,
something you'll never find here.

Beneath the shade of
an untrimmed
Juniper tree children
swing from
Hemp  ropes while
singing innocent
rhymes about killing.

The girls use nets
made from a
Reed switch
and catch gentle
Swallowtails
with no intentions
of ever letting them go.

He laid in the sun
    like he ruled the earth,
    he held onto the
wine bottle
     with a hand heavily scared
      with the marks
of suffering.

    He toasted the
sea and the surf,
    cursed the
gulls and the gnats.

     Then brought the bottle
to his dried and
cracked
lips and drank
as if the
    last grape
     of the world had
let its blood
     into his bottle.

     He laughed at
a memory
     then yelled at
the sun and
       everyone around
him was a peasant.

    His lips bled red
as he gulped mouth
fulls of wine.
The memory of
her along this very beach
caused his inner
rage to drum forth.

     He gripped handfuls
of sand as he silently
Dammed the serpents
all to Hell.

  He mumbled drunken
thanks to
    Minerva, Osiris, Hera
     and Anu.

      The shadowed world
looked down upon him
     and the feral cats adored him.
     He lived like true royalty,
drunk and alone.

Care free and forgotten
he had become once
he had awoke to it all.
Ridiculed and labeled CRAZY
for his ability to see
it all for what it really
was,for what it really
still is.

She left this page
on a Saturday as he
slept on a chair
beside her hospital bed.
He buried her
on a Tuesday,
then set about to
drinking.

He broke free
of it all,
detached himself
from this farce
and
set about to wonder.
Now free of the
pollution they call society,
he waited only
on the next life,
on that next page.

Where she had promised him
they'd meet again...

I watered
my thoughts
with moments.

Tiny moments.
Moments forever
trapped
within the
cloudy hollows
of my
experience.

What has
bloomed forth
became
all of this.
This of which
has blossomed
from
tiny moments.

Tiny,
like the feet
of the girls
named
Jade in China.

Tiny moments.
Moments
I thought
grand enough
to share with you.

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.

It was the
warmth
I felt at
the sound
of her voice
that assured
me it had
returned.
The way she
stared directly
into my eyes as I
spoke.
The way
she waited
patiently
while I
struggled
with the
stammer.

I placed
the times
with her deep
within the
caverns of
my memory.
In the
bright
place where
all of the
good times
are kept.

I did what
was right
before I had
a chance to
let her
down or
to hurt her in
the way only
I knew
how to
do.

I loved her
for a week
then let
her go.
It was the
only right
thing
to
do.

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

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

I could call most
of them
off by name.

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

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

There's been a lot of unnecessary death in San Pedro these last few years.
People I once considered brothers, some at one time I would have done anything for.
We are all getting older, a lot of things have changed.
Some of the things we used to abuse now have the power to **** us.
Be mindful of what it is you are doing, things aren't the same anymore.
  Remember Never Do It Alone  its not the same anymore.
Please be careful, you know who you are.
Call me if you have to but just don't do it alone.
The reasons we've all had for not speaking for years shouldn't matter anymore.
We are living in a time like no other, not everyone will make it to see the outcome of future events.
I should've answered his message instead of being mad about something 10 years ago.
Now it's too late and there's nothing worse than too late.

Rest Easy My Friends
F.Laponovich
B.Ardias
R.Monje
D.Monje Sr.
R.M Monje
B.Wheat
C.Ivisovich
M.Faust
J.Beazera

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...

Crude signs painted
with the blood of the
living denounced
their latest decree.

Standing at the podium
spreading more lies.
All the world be your
theater and
nothing here is real.

Daytime cocktails under the
shadows of the palms.
Blood thinning and
running cold.
Cold like the serpent in the
summer sun.

You left your dreams in a
waste basket a few miles
outside of Vegas.
And all there is to do
is turn the music up
and lie to her some more.

Black draped youth
waving flags of
revolutionary red.

Pock scarred and some beautiful faces
all aimed up towards the waters.
The sound of millions in the know.
Voices echo off the firmament
and cause ripples to race across
the very fabric of the heavens.

All of them screaming
"We KNOW!!"

And the Gods remained silent
as their secret held no more.

Crude signs painted
with the blood of the
living denounced
their latest decree.

Standing at the podium
spreading more lies.
All the world be your
theater and
nothing here is real.

Daytime cocktails under the
shadows of the palms.
Blood thinning and
running cold.
Cold like the serpent in the
summer sun.

You left your dreams in a
waste basket a few miles
outside of Vegas.
And all there is to do
is turn the music up
and lie to her some more.

Black draped youth
waving flags of
revolutionary red.

Pock scarred and some beautiful faces
all aimed up towards the waters.
The sound of  millions in the know.
Voices echo off the firmament
and cause ripples to race across
the very fabric of the heavens.

All of them screaming
"We KNOW!!"

And the Gods remained silent
as their secret held no more.

Give me one reason to
grin and I'll
give you ten reasons to
frown.
Show me something
to cherish
and I'll throw
the rest of
this stash
away.

Offer me another
chance and I'll
probably take it.

Prove to me
none of it was
worth it and
I'll force
myself to agree.

Explain to me once more
how they walk around,
drive around,
fly around so blind
to it all and I
still won't
understand.

Present to me
the reasoning
of my past.
Justify my suffering,
and I'll write you
a tragedy full of
realness,
and beauty.

The need becomes a clamor
somewhere deep within the
recesses of all that calls for
my attention.

The demands of living,
the drama of the morning
and stepping out into the day.

The smile I'm forced to wear
stretched wide across my disdain.
The handshakes and back slaps
that secretly cause me to cringe
at the feeling of another's flesh
coming in contact with my own.

The false friendships and the false wealth.
The great lie that is joy
and the camouflaged slavery
they are all unknowingly chained to
with links made up of loans and wants.

To coil a scarred hand around the beautiful curves of the wet bottle is to find sanctuary from the sweat and the toil from lasting another day.
There's pills or the poppy,
the slumberous narcotic sold in
bindles near the shore.

There's plenty to run to,
various versions of the need.
It reminds you how powerless you
are in the form of warm, beads of cold sweat
racing down your aching cramped up spine.

It knaws at the marrow and
tears at the last bit of will you have yet to lose.

Not every end is indeed the goal.
I wish to go on for just a little while longer.
Long enough to turn that need into an art form.
All of which is made up of magic that comes from living hard
and in secret.

Still managing to survive with this nagging,
pleading, wicked kind of need.

Out of Liquor
and out of time.
It's 2 AM on
someday
thats not a
saturday.

Outside my window
racoons climb through
the fig tree feasting
like untamed
royalty on
the heavy hanging
fruit.

I rifle through
the cabinets
in search of a
bottle.
The cabinets are
bare and I know
this,
but the madness
says there's more.

There's a deep
red stain on
the scuffed and
peeling linoleum floor.
It's as red as
that flapping flag
of anarchy.
It's blood and
I know it
but I choose to
ignore it.

The bars have
all closed and I can
hear my neighbor
has brought the
party home
next door.

I despise the sun
but times like
these I beg the
Gods for it's
arrival.
For with the
awakening of
another day
brings the opening of the
liquor store
and my continuance
in the way of the
hardened soul.

My mornings began
just as empty as
my bottles
from the night before
and I see no
real reason to
stop it all
now.

Hunters wear camoflauge and
play the wind while stalking their prize.

Breath when you squeeze the trigger
the way he taught you when you were just a boy.

Make a clean cut ,save the liver and the still warm heart.

Don't take more than what you need.

A good sized buck can last you all winter.

And always be sure to leave something behind for the
wolves and the wolverines.

East sat amongst the
ground level clouds
drenched in the
weeping tears
of Down Town Mothers.

A crystal door chime
sings that song
the wind sang
to me a lifetime ago.

Out of the blood
of the living
comes the strength
to stack these caskets
4 and 5 deep.

That bearded
guitar playing
Demi God
spoke the words
I longed to write.

She was of a
Northern tribe
but spoke the language
of the Devils
and drank only
Volcano fire.

Her tattoos,
calm voice,
dyed hair and
flawless brows
are what pulled
me in.

I fought off Love
and gave in to the
muse while watching
yet another
Southern Migration
pass overhead.

Apartment door locks
all threw themselves secure
as the shadows grew taller
and West wasted itself
back into the sea.

I had almost mastered the art of making my way through life without making too much noise.

I had spent the last 6 years mostly alone.
Concentrated all my efforts on trying to stay out of prison.
Worked on the writing and the poetry.
And doing all I could to just be forgotten.

I had kicked up enough dust in my early years to spend the majority of my adult life behind bars.
Came home with more tattoos, another strike and a
Monkey on my back.
I was home with greying hair, a bullet in my hand that hurt like hell, an ex wife who hated me, kids who didn't know me and friends who had forgotten all about me.

I move as low to the ground as possible now days.
I went out only when I had to.
I was just trying not to be noticed.
Hoping that maybe they'll forget about all the bad I had done
and just let me grow old in silence.

I spent  my 40th birthday in a coin-op laundromat that reminded me of a crude jail house day-room.
Concrete floors, metal picnic tables with a large tv bolted to the wall  

She walked in carrying what looked like everything she owned.
She couldn't have been more than 5 feet tall, maybe 100lbs at the most.

I quickly stood up from my seat on the cold steel bench and offered to relieve her of some of her burden, to which she shyly obliged.

Nobody ever taught her how to be polite.
She didn't know what being gracious even meant until she met me.

She'ld say " Don't blame me I wasn't raised right", it was our lil joke but a joke that was far  to real.

It was her beauty that saved her.
Her body was what most women would never have.
Men felt a burning desire at the sight of her.
Which she used to her advantage when needed.
It's what helped her get by during the roughest of times.

She wasn't a ***** but they didn't know that.
By the time they had realized she wasn't giving what they wanted she would have already packed her things and left for good.

Men would promise her almost everything when all she really wanted was something to call her own.

Her front tooth was chipped from a fight with an ex boyfriend.
The minor flaw only added to her rare type of natural beauty.
Light freckles across the bridge of her nose.
She had scared up boney knuckles and always wore thick silver rings on 4 of her fingers.
Naturally long eyelashes and acne scared cheeks she'ld hide with cover up.

What she knew of the world was almost comical, she hadn't been anywhere and wasn't planning on going anywhere any time soon.
What she lacked in social skills couldn't compare to what she knew how to do in bed.

I gave her a safe place to rest without having to worry.
She gave me reason to shower in the morning and comb my hair before bed.

We played chess which was a surprise to me when she asked me if I played.

I introduced her to  Bukowski, Dante and Virgil.
She brought a strange type of warmth to my otherwise cold lonely apartment .
Our time was a break from the isolation and a reminder of how it was to be with another.
She brought back memories I had long ago forced
myself to forget.

Her only rule was that I never asked about her past.
What she wanted me to know she would share on her own.
My only request was that she never asked me to stop using
and when she felt it was time to move on ,she wouldn't take the time to say goodbye.

I had almost mastered the art of making my way through life without making too much noise.

I had spent the last 6 years mostly alone.
Concentrated all my efforts on trying to stay out of prison.
Worked on the writing and the poetry.
And doing all I could to just be forgotten.

I had kicked up enough dust in my early years to spend the majority of my adult life behind bars.
Came home with more tattoos, another strike and a
Monkey on my back.
I was home with greying hair, a bullet in my hand that hurt like hell, an ex wife who hated me, kids who didn't know me and friends who had forgotten all about me.

I move as low to the ground as possible now days.
I went out only when I had to.
I was just trying not to be noticed.
Hoping that maybe they'll forget about all the bad I had done
and just let me grow old in silence.

I spent  my 43rd birthday in a coin-op laundromat that reminded me of a crude jail house day-room.
Concrete floors, metal picnic tables with a large tv bolted to the wall .
Nothing was made for comfort and everything had some type of a lock on it.

She walked up carrying what looked like everything she owned.
She struggled with the door and the laundry in her arms.
I quickly stood up from my seat on the cold steel bench and offered to relieve her of some of her burden, to which she shyly obliged.
She was far to pretty to be alone and I was half waiting on a boyfriend to appear.

Nobody ever taught her how to be polite.
She didn't know what being gracious even meant until she met me.

She'd say " Don't blame me I wasn't raised right", it was our lil joke but a joke that was far  to real.

It was her beauty that saved her.
Her body was what most women would never have.
Men felt a burning desire at the sight of her.
Which she used to her advantage when needed.
It's what helped her get by during the roughest of times.

She wasn't a ***** but they didn't know that.
By the time they had realized she wasn't giving what they wanted she would have already packed her things and left for good.

Men would promise her almost everything when all she really wanted was something to call her own.

Her front tooth was chipped from a fight with an ex boyfriend.
The minor flaw only added to her rare type of natural beauty.
Light freckles across the bridge of her nose.
She had scared up boney knuckles and always wore thick silver rings on 4 of her fingers.
Naturally long eyelashes and acne scared cheeks she'd hide with cover up.

What she knew of the world was almost comical, she hadn't been anywhere and wasn't planning on going anywhere any time soon.
What she lacked in social skills couldn't compare to what she knew how to do in bed.

I gave her a safe place to rest without having to worry.
She gave me reason to shower in the morning and comb my hair before bed.

We played chess which was a surprise to me when she asked me if I played.

I introduced her to  Bukowski, Dante and Virgil.
She brought a strange type of warmth to my otherwise cold lonely apartment .
Our time was a break from the isolation and a reminder of how it was to be with another.
She brought back memories I had long ago forced
myself to forget.

Her only rule was that I never asked about her past.
What she wanted me to know she would share on her own.
My only request was that she never asked me to stop using
and when she felt it was time to move on ,she wouldn't take the time to say goodbye.

My days ago
are piled
with excess.

My days ahead,
clouded
with letting
go.

This day today,
empty
as the bottle
laying next
to me.

And there's
no way
to grow
young
again.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I'm against everything based on Fear.
Propaganda in this country has hit an all time high.

People don't even care about the Truth anymore.

The Truth is all I Care About.

I will make enemies and be ridiculed
while protecting the Truth.

Protecting it from all those who wish to smear their
Fear based ******* upon it.

This something of
a doctor once
asked me to
write a list.
He leaned back
in his squeaking,
worn leather
chair.
Entwined his fingers
behind
his greasy
half balding head.
Exposing the
wet stains on the
arm pits of
his creased button
shirt as if they weren't
there.

He thought he was so
smart ,so superior
with his framed
accomplishments
littered all
over his institutional
colored office walls.


I sat across from
him degreeless and
self educated,
therefore a failure
in this sham of a
world they have
created.

He thought
I was dumb with my
crude prison tattoos,
police record
and noticeable
stammer.

I took hold of the
sharpened number 2
and for the briefest of moments
seriously considered
jamming the lead filled
pencil deep into his
razor burned neck.

I stared at the
yellowing
stains beneath his
flabby arms
and couldn't help but smile.
I smiled as I put
point to paper
and began to write
his stupid list.

There's a pistol hungry
for vengeance and heavy in my
pocket urging me forth.
A lazy monkey
who insists I carry
it's burden.
A mind so full of
tragedies that
even nightmares
steer clear.

A broken heart that
needs to stay broken.
Shattered hopes that
refuse to dream.
Tattoos that have forgotten
their meanings.
Junkies who need
their junk.

Death raiding ravens
circling overhead.
A black cat
who saved my life
more than once.
A girl I love
who will never
love me.
******* doctors
with **** smelling arm pits.
Bad kids who know they're
bad.

Stray dogs in search
of a home.
Dead minds cheering
for ball chasing men.
Working men
who know nothing
of the world but
work.


Broke and addicted
writers looking for
a casket to rest in.
An empty grave
that longs
to be filled.

That letter I wrote and
still haven't sent.
And a date with
a dealer
therefore this   
list is
now done.

It came around again
for we are at the center
of our everything.

And the center never
moves.

It burns through natural clouds
and unnatural lines in our sky.

Over the Eastern mountains
and scorched hillsides.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That first blinding ray
shines its way through the ages
to great you each and every  morning .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Another day had arrived
and with it
the blinding ray.

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

Let us not
look to
their shadowed
world and
feel apart.

For amongst
the low and
the lost,
deep beneath
the hurt.
Great thoughts
and true
emotions
often linger.