California Kids

I’ll call you up on Saturday
And invite you over.
Take the 101, 110 and 1;
(Sounds like an equation!)
And you’re there.
Just use your GPS..
There’ll be a party at my house,
Daft Punk playing on the Echo.
It’ll be epic, Echoic!
With some vintage’ tunes,
Crankin’ the Beach Boys,
Watching surfers
Shredding out-the-back,
Past prowling sharks in the shallows.
Lets go to the dunes and maybe kiss.
I know that you miss me,
So don’t ask me why
And when you come,
I won’t ask
“What are you doing here?”
We’ll eat fish tacos,
Guacamole, Pico de Gallo
And drink margaritas
While we debate French new wave,
I’ll praise Truffaut while you
Tell me that Scorsese is the man.
When we get drunk enough
I will suggest a walk
Along the iridescent surf.
You should say yes because
I’m safe now that I drive electric,
That I turned vegan
(sorry about the fish)
and wear cruelty-free clothes.
I don’t grill snapper anymore
And take my shoes off inside the door.
Maybe we’ll make it to Tower 28,
Lay down and watch the full moon
Like Jim Morrison did to write.
I’ll tell you I’m glad you’re alive—
I’m no poet, but you know that.

Born to a winter season my thoughts have permanently obstained from chilly insatiable climates that wear on the mind
My thoughts can be only taken to places of warm phenomenons such as a summer day in California
Thoughts taken to places of yesterdays and those of future days like a memory keepsake
Mirage scenes from a dream accompanied by music takes me to days of a dreamy beautiful beach saunter in summer
Enjoying a nice cruise down a winding mountain thoroughfare with the breeze blowing through my hair

The fruit of
the Pacific madrone
tree may at
first entice you
with its fiery
scarlet skin.

But bite
into it and
you’ll taste
astringent, gristly pith—
with hard seeds
like discarded
children’s teeth.

You will know
that foolish feeling
that lurks within
the shadow between
sugary expectations
and bitter truth.

Sophisticated elegance
Pornographic decadence
Psychedelic trip
The past, present and future
Of what is the Sunset Strip

Hot spots undiscovered
History recovered
Dig in and take a dip
The past, present and future
Of what is the Sunset Strip

Darkness in the daytime
Sunlight cleans the slime
It's easier to grip
The past, present and future
Of what is the Sunset Strip

Tales of olden Hollywood
Hangers on and hoods
Changing what is hip
The past, present and future
Of what is the Sunset Strip

Sophisticated Decadence
Pornographic Elegance
The Chateau for a nip
The past, present and future
Of what is the Sunset Strip

Is it really that black and white?
To choose a side,
is it red or blue?
Whats true for me,
or whats "best" for you?

Where have all the flowers gone?
Burned to dust in California.
Drowned to death in Lousiana.
Blown away in the Central states.

We are left with heartbreak,
                    and rage....

We reap what we sow,
isnt that what they say?
Is this why Violets lie in my wake?

So where have all the flowers gone?
Raise your eyes and see,
count our stars.

Love is free.

Hope brought me
to life, you brought me
to the sea.

When all is lost,
Your prayers
bring me to my knees.

I follow the drumming
of a distant untethered beat,
wild & erratic, Dancing languid,moving
free.

Hope brought me to life,
you brought me to the beach,

and a moment in time
is all I can see,

For now I move
languid and free.

It all led up to this moment,
The dedication we casted our ambitions in,
The triumphs we rooted our adversities in,
It brought us to the next chapter of our lives,
And for you I'm forever grateful to,
Thanks for joining me on my journey.

The California dream is what we were living,
From the adventurous summer splendor,
To the heartfelt bittersweet departures,
Those unified celebratory cheers,
It was summer 21' of unprecedented affection,
Onto the next phase of life we go where unknown possibilities lie dormant,
Here's to the discoveries to come,
The gratitude to bestow,
& memories we'll create.

~
I hold still,

let him finish stabbing me

                                                 — I count six,

let him believe me dead,

he moves on to Cecelia.

--

It does not go as well for her

as she continues to writhe and scream

and carry on,

not well at all
                                             
               ­                              — I count eight,

                                                                nine,

                                                                ten...
~