Window blinds cover up
slanted shaded
T-shirts left by the gutter

No jack of all trades
a soda pop bacon shampoo
dinning room menu.

5 star restraunt. a lone
twentysix lighted lamps
a treehouse ennui

Seven red thoughts, not or really not
gourmands set on the stage.
a plagiarized venue.

Spanish steps
one rythm
solo vocals
just one hymn

The night unveils
above the platform
white owls screeching
in the night. A
tender arrival suits
himself all in red.
These ebullient moons of
the nights harken back.

The bloodstain of a
bullfight paints the
steps of the biblioteca,
across the street from
the church of The Santa Pina.

The blooming spanish
seed of a thousand nights'
planets consort dancing under
the moonlight's dress.

Only once a chance was
given to all these
prevailers of the
night.

Now in silence
a hot brass chortle
confuses and erupts and erases
killing midnight from the eve.

The moonlit night has
danced, the passing
trains ought forwards and on
ward and too and too,
and another night
passes from stillness
to excitement.

There is a house in my heart.
For you on whose steps there are to speak.
You say: One green breath for life,
a breath within a life without.

And yet you say:
There is darkness in this house.
Within and about. And it’s
Connected by tissues of ****
and pure ***** kept down and
puce colored gangrene too.

So, In this our palace of stations and notes,
We provoke some constant prudence, a
lack of a chamber of floats,
A muse’s seance.
Life: the liver afloat.

I.
Men on the inside,
Men on the outside.
Girls waiting for a ride.

Guns in the car and
Guns on the street
All stop and wait,
To turn on a dime.

Their Teeth be red,
Mr. Man on the beat
Ain’t nothing taking
you to the end off my street

Where a house so cold
Left it’s owner so deaf that the
second owner died
Trying to reach the
same clef.

And without a horse, a cane, a hat, or tales
so rent. Just by playin’ out-side the schoolyard;
where our ****’s never been spent.

Isn’t enough to you.
Or me.

II.
Guns in the avenue
Guns on the beat
Daylight’s sunshine, more
dripped blood onto my street.

First games at the park,
Then learning Names on the bus
I feel Twelve years old, I have
Twin lives told Apart by
Barely-even-yet spent breath.

School’s in the dark.
The street’s on the yard,
Jitterbug is almost over.
Horned construction softens.

More than the Men on
the inside
Men on the outside.
We’re all Waiting for a
future to tomorrow.
Something, something to meet.

Not some pipe to bend,
or some rule to break,
Or to get noticed,
for violence’s sake,

Only for the highness
to be been ridden
of what answers
Ancient pain brought.

Until we all believe we’re
Just providing a soul’s life freedom,
and one un-ill begot’en one.

and tomorrow
you will do something
and dream something
and you might say something
that might get in your way

and that will fail
to get to the meaning of
your meaning of out of the way.

so, go to those houses
and places out of your way
and streets and parks
that are just right to your mind
and homes and abodes that keep you
and charm yourself right out
of your mouth

so you have left and only leave
a prima
facie

The lifelong journey beneath your feet is awaiting you everyday

Its Fall.
Maple trees growgrowgrow.
Down town towntowntown.
Birds sing english unslumped.
And green grass
Grows.

Maple leaves drop.
The sun’s slowin’ down.
And all the way down,
And dropping upwards smoke.

Maple leaves smoke.
Its Spring.
The maple lot croaked.
Wind did nothin’ wild but
Time allotted it a seat and spoke.

Maples leave smoke.
It’s water. Water that broke.
the Maples all prespired.
An empty lot learned to choke.

long legs,
two short.
long enough to ***** over
2 slots
to top.
Nothing lewd.
 
gimme baroque first
and then the news.
Back up our doubting Thomas
with more muted previews.
 
2 more slots.
I'm looking for the road
right after I leave
just know
2 more too slow.
 
To a long drive,
to show
that
nothing is working
and
nothing is worth
freaking over &
pulling over.