Why aren't there angels

keeping watch, not even here --


in Los Angeles?

I aimed the old car
south and
ran as many red
lights as my luck
would allow.

Kept my sunglasses
on as I
listened to Frusciante
singing
nothing but the
truth all through
the magic of
my radio.

Left the madness of
the city and
entered the
land where
atomic bombs
and peoples sanity
have both
been tested.

Desert roads
littered
with desert lies,
like oasis and
promises made
in Vegas.

I took a toot
off the side of
my hand like
I seen them do in
the movies.

Wasted the better
part of my stash
on this foolish
trick.

This ride I'm
taking is real.

On my way
I'll be looking for a
wild young girl
to roll my joints
and laugh at my
jokes.
Give my eyes
a place to rest in.

I'm looking for
a lovely from the
low side of town.
Whose spirit has
yet to be broken
and whose mind
isn't already
filled with their
lies.

Watched as the
California landscape
turned from
beaches and tropical
palms to
cactus taller than
most men
and dry forgotten
land that
most come to
die in.

From congested
freeways that hold
the drivers hostage.
To wide open
desert highways
where its safe to
drink straight from
the bottle without
that pestering public
servant there to
ruin your ride.

If I make it out of
this dam
desert alive
with my wallet
and my sanity still
intact.
I'll look back
at it all
as just another
memory.
And try
not to give
in to
ever going
back.

My hand shot straight out towards the wall like a shotgun blast as I laid on my sore back covered in a thick film of resiny drug addict sweat.
I was awake and it was hot as Hades in that fucken room.
I felt around the crumpled sheets and half dozen pillows and found my phone without waking the naked body next to me.

My eyes adjusted to the bit of sunlight that found its way past my blinds. The body next to me was wide at the hips with crude tattoos on both arms and an obvious cover-up on her upper back. I tried to make out the name she once loved and quickly gave up . She stirred as I tried getting a look at her.
Her face was covered with a thick mane of dark brown hair, I wanted to wake her but I couldn't recall a name. So I let her be and focused on the LCD screen in my hand.
There was a  picture of a half naked girl behind a thin red wall flashing "Download!"
The sucker I am had to do it ,and that's how my every move  was known for the rest of this ****** off ,weird *** day about to tell you about.

I started jerking or twitching about 4 months ago back when I started smoking the pook pretty much everyday.
Everyday.
Religiously like an alter boy and his ******* sessions .
I stopped sleeping normally and my appetite wanted only sweets or alcohol.When I did manage to burn myself out and pass out for a bit I noticed that I never dreamed.
I didn't dream that night either or the morning as I laid there in the 82 degree stuffy *** room listening to the sound of some useless fan squeaking and creaking it's way back and forth across the room.
Doing nothing but creating the illusion of relief from the hot summer morning.
The hips next to me didn't seem to mind the heat.
I reached over and aimed the cheap fat towards her wide ***
and positioned it to stay there.

September in the city of Los Angeles still felt like July in the 1990's when it seemed to always be hot.
Which probably contributed to the amount of senseless gang murders that spread all over the city during that time like locust.

Hot ,uncomfortable poor people get ******* pretty easy and its too dam hot to be fighting like some God Dam fools in the middle of the hot *** street.Those were  some ****** days and if you paid attention to the city ,you'll find it never really ended.
Everybody just stopped talking about it until it just went away and became normal.
Normal like that dogs gonna hit on the freeway,or normal like everyone in your building not speaking a word of English except the kids.
And they're all bad as Hell.

The last dream I had was in a co-ed detox somewhere the fucken Valley.I was all Doped up on Subutex and Adderall.
All the girls there were either strippers or **** stars or both.  Man....

Anyway,Yea so I got up with another of those weird *** jerks or spasms or whatever. I first noticed them while I was on a good nod you know when you're at that place you spent atleast 40$ trying to get to and everything about you just submits as the petals of the poppy protect you from all that you're dying , trying to forget.
I started to notice every time I fell down that rabbit hole of comfort and forgetfulness I was always being forced out of it by an uncontrollable kick of the leg or swing of the arm.
I mostly ignored it the way I tended to do when it came to things regarding my health. I treated my body like an old second hand car I had purchased with a bounced check.
Only now as I approached 40 did I began to worry.
But I quickly shrugged that moment of worry off as I got up and headed toward the head.

He
has to
drink
his
meals.
So, I
drink
mine
to.

I have
to
drown
his cells
in
nutrients.

I'm
trying
to
keep
someone
alive.

The cruelest
of all things
is the short
amount of time
the Gods
have allowed us
to spend
with our pets.

It's been 7 years today since my last release from Prison.
The longest I've been home since I was 15.

I made a lot of bad choices along the way
most of which only hurt myself and my family.

Prison is no place to grow up in,
I learned how to shave in prison,
got my first tattoo, lost my first love
and learned what things like
loyalty and sacrifice really meant.

I wasted a lot of good years in there
most of them due to someone else's weakness,
fears and inability to accept the consequences
of their own actions.

It hasn't been easy and I've missed out on a lot.
But I can go to sleep and look at myself in the mirror
knowing that I never gave anyone up.
I remain loyal
and I'm still here.
Even though there are
those who wish I wasn't.

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.

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.

Bleary-eyed, an old man asks for change,
coins rattling in his hand. A woman
hands him saltine crackers across the aisle.
“God bless you,” he mutters, takes a seat,
and unwraps the plastic with shaking hands.
He smiles at her before she leaves the train.

Tonight, the passengers on the train
are surprisingly quiet for a change.
We are all staring down at our hands.
And then the silence breaks - a woman
cackles aloud to herself in her seat.
Her laughter travels up and down the aisle.

I overhear a conversation across the aisle
between a couple who’ve just entered the train,
and are searching for a pair of empty seats.
They’re muttering “the country is changing”
and they say they are afraid. The woman
sighs, and reaches for her lover’s hand.

I look over at a child holding her mother’s hand.
I meet the little girl’s gaze from across the aisle.
I see myself as a child too, but to her I’m a woman.
I wonder how often the little girl rides the train.
Does she long to see something else for a change -
something other than the back of a seat?

I notice a lady who has started dancing in her seat,
snapping her fingers and waving her hands,
bobbing to a silent beat. I imagine her changing
into a sequined dress and waltzing down the aisle,
giving everyone a performance to watch on the train.
I imagine standing up and dancing with that woman

and then everyone begins to dance with the woman -
we all jump up onto our seats
and suddenly we are in a ballroom, not a train.
We are tapping our feet and clapping our hands
to the music - the little girl across the aisle
is dancing with the old man who asked for change.

The train stops. We’ve arrived at my station. The dancing woman leaves the train. The passengers change and now there are strangers in their seats. I wave my hand goodbye to the little girl as I walk past her down the aisle.

The only thing I learned
In this ocean of stars
Is that I can drown anywhere