she had nice
hair.
nice skin
too.
nice
eyes.
and
the way her lips
circled her
lit cigarette,
inhaling
just the right
amount of
reviving-death,
and
managing a
cheeky grin
was nice.
a lady,
not a girl.
I sat to her
and
for once in
a very
very long time.
I had a sense of
fear...
of wonder on
what move she'd
make next.
rather than
hope
for the best
with a
predictable,
****** opportunity.
lady.

Tonight I found
myself in a
parking lot.

I jumped,
I ran,
I slid,
and I smiled.

I, once again
looked for
shortcuts to
ordinary life
such as: crammed buses
and their empty roofs.

the moon looked
sharp,
and I wasn't worried
of anyone else;
but me.

eluding merely
six vehicles in a
free-way
because I
like the rush
next to death.

but I was breathing,
more alive than ever,
with a board
on 4-wheels
gripped.

and proud to be
lost,
proud to be
nothing,
proud to feel
like I did first,
5 years ago.

and I was happy.

from the balcony view,
I see my youth.
half thrown to dust,
and half of recovery.
I see the rich among
the solitude,
and the dirt on
young feet.
I see smiles of ignorance,
young ignorance to
fade with age.
and the white collars
comporting in peace,
completely aware of the tilted
lives held.
the big to eat
their derelicts,
and the small with
intense perceptive.
from this balcony view,
I see our traffic,
going absolutely nowhere.

I always thought
orange moonlight
from the corner of an
apartment, painted white's,
window was the best kind
of beaming beauty.
spring colored, natural light,
nothing else. it's beauty I ruin
with my idle self,
for I'd love to be spread on
the trimmed, moist grass,
enjoying the smell of nature's cut.
rather I'm slummed alone
on this paperback writer,
the moon glowing,
the glass a fourth empty,
The Beatles playing,
and the peace I need.