"blvd" poems
I have been going to the track for so
long that
all the employees know
me,
and now with winter here
it's dark before the last
race.
as I walk to the parking lot
the valet recognizes my
slouching gait
and before I reach him
my car is waiting for me,
lights on, engine warm.
the other patrons
(still waiting)
ask,
"who the hell is that
guy?"
I slip the valet a
tip, the size depending upon the
luck of the
day (and my luck has been amazingly
good lately)
and I then am in the machine and out on
the street
as the horses break
from the gate.
I drive east down Century Blvd.
turning on the radio to get the result of that
last race.
at first the announcer is concerned only with
bad weather and poor freeway
conditions.
we are old friends: I have listened to his
voice for decades but,
of course, the time will finally come
when neither one of us will need to
clip our toenails or
heed the complaints of our
women any longer.
meanwhile, there is a certain rhythm
to the essentials that now need
attending to.
I light my cigarette
check the dashboard
adjust the seat and
weave between a Volks and a Fiat.
as flecks of rain spatter the
windshield
I decide not to die just
yet:
this good life just smells too
sweet.
9k
if i'm forty-five
and not married
and i still have my looks
and charm
and sense of humor,
i think i'll walk on down
to martin luther king blvd
and kick up a fuss,
start up a ****** habit
with a dealer i can trust.
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 1:29 PM UTC
Trucking around music playing loud
Took me weak acting like they are proud
Cheated on by false promises misled love
Saying they live but don't want to be with the person
Sticking around how perverse this is going to get worse horrible ending
Not faking love or pretending wish this were real but don't have time for fake
I treated you well and loyal accused of wrong doing those are your uptight actions wrapped in wrong coming out
Send this out to those who I looked out for and they stabbed me in the back
That's my fault for being over trusting moving too close and turning my back
I'm not over reacting could of said worse
Be responsible stop blaming others for you being cursed
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 2:58 PM UTC
Rapid Eye Movements
cruise down the Autobahn,
driving dreams of soldiers
slaying the Beast in the East:
seeds hidden in the cuff links
that return home for the victory parade.
The victory parade of the new millennium
is a mirage: desert sand creeps
through the streets of Basra;
spray painted slogans of “Aryan Nation”
are left behind on pock-marked walls.
High level terror alerts
scroll across the Fear o' Dome,
breeding paranoid glances
from commercial-class passengers
while they fly above fenced camps
where centralized secret service agents
watch the unloading of another train.
"Son, do you forget the sacrifices?
Have you lost all your respect?
Okay, it’s possible that the Feds
were influenced by the Purebreds—
a minor repercussion
of maintaining our national security.
It isn’t even about racial purity—
you are all mixed now, anyway.
Whether female, black, jew, or gay,
we must unite together as a nation;
raise its flag with pride,
and fight against a common enemy!
This enemy is trying to disintegrate
the cornerstone of our free society!
Son, can you not see! Not see-notsee-notsea-notsi-notzi-natzi-nazi-natzi-notzi-notsi-notsea-notsee-not see!"
_____
—cold sweat.
I awaken to remnants of nightmarish images
sifting through my mind:
flocks of carnivorous sheep
with invisible shepherds.
The dream had felt real—
solid, like flesh-out reality.
I rush out of bed,
just to make sure.
From my bedroom window,
I see the neighbour’s Iron Eagle weathervane
goose-stepping towards the west.
A lawnmower growls in the background.
Everything appears normal here
on the corner of 4th Reichstag Blvd.
2016 Neu Berlin Remix, July 13th, 2016
(original version was written on March 29th, 2010)
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 6:14 PM UTC
...on a tangent,
writing lines on my laptop as my emotions run rampant,
in a parking lot outside a Sprouts on Santa Monica Blvd.,
typing vows like they might make some kind of difference,
woke up, restless, on the wrong side of the bed today,
welcomed back, to this Waking Life with tightness in my chest,
& this relentless feeling of eternal loneliness I can’t shake,
which has got me thinking, maybe some souls can’t be saved,
& maybe that’s why I’m now sitting in my car,
with tears in my eyes & nowhere to drive,
because there’s nowhere I want to go,
other than back to the one place where my love was denied,
the only place I want to go,
is back into the arms of the one that let me go,
but she’s so far gone memories seem like only dreams now,
even though I’m not dreaming, I’m wide awake, woke,
I feel so far away from her, for real, it’s almost unbearable, tears start to flow, I think about taking my own life, but don’t,
instead I shake it off, write it down, get these words out of me, to show we all hurt & it’s okay to lose control,
& yeah I know I’ve got nothing really to complain about,
because I’ve got a great life & all that,
but knowing my life is better than most of those in this world,
doesn’t really make me feel better or enhanced,
in fact, it actually makes me more depressed,
it makes me wonder what hope we have left,
as the forests burn, the wars rage,
& the polar bears frantically panic on ever melting ice caps,
& I’m constantly aware of all of these obvious facts,
& maybe that’s why I’m in my car with tears in my lap,
lost with no motivation running out of time & patience,
can’t see a future, feel the present, or remember the past,
This Unruly Mess We’ve Made looks great, shout out to Mac,
but it wasn’t built to last so how much more can it withstand?...
excerpt from poem #63 of THHT3:
The Hollywood Hearts Trilogy Vol 3
available worldwide 9/9/19
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 7:27 PM UTC
Back by popular demand
being a ***** persisted.
I'm sick of yuppies in BMWs
that glitter the highway like cheap tinsel
and ruin my view of sunset on Sunset Blvd.
On top of that,
gift cards mixed up with chopped up plastic credit
rattle at the insides of my plump little belly,
and I don’t think its going anywhere.
*Although, I'm getting nauseous,
I wont ***** until the fat lady sings.
And if that's not long enough for you then,
I'll just see you in hell.*
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 2:50 PM UTC
All those years worn,
you never did make it outta The Valley,
all those feature film premieres, never did land a starring roll,
or get any recognition, let alone an Oscar from The Academy,
all those foggy eyed groggy times, you were probably high,
all those checks you cashed, for your non refundable time,
waking up one day, wondering where it all went,
driving a car with a lease more expensive your apartment’s,
still stuck in that same apartment, off Ventura Blvd.,
still a B-List actor ******* that A-List ****
still getting haircuts from stylist, still racking up milage,
got more clothes in your closet than dollars in the bank,
& in the end after it’s all said & done & all the time is spent,
& you’re finally spent, what’ll you have left to show for it all?
All those years worn,
spent suspended in mid air, baking in The Valley,
all those times you attended, those feature film premieres,
still no recognition, let alone an Oscar from The Academy..
∆ LaLux ∆
from The Hollywood Hearts Trilogy Vol. 3:
Dark Lights | Bright Shadows
9/9/19
I'm letting it all go, telling it like it is in Hollywood. This book is the one. Get it, or if you can't afford the $3, let me know and I'll buy it for you.
Sep 2, 2019
Sep 2, 2019 at 10:33 PM UTC
parked like a limping jalopy on an amputee park bench.
watching young soft girls sell hard against the boulevard
so they can do smack out back with the white trash boys
who size me up.
hats crooked and backward like their mothers teeth and their own beliefs.
slouching and leaning in their stride like two drunken penguins
shuffling home from the ice bar, fighting over fish sticks--no real threat to any one but themselves.
their drawn out skinny arms with bad backs and barroom tattoos already turning blue.
this is our future--or part of it.
while a young couple breezes by both with their noses buried in iphones.
oblivious to anything outside their happy little bubble.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 4:58 PM UTC
Introducing Picasso and Nunez aka ANu Picasso a pair of L.A. poets and painters coming to a gallery near you.
Our first big gig will be at the Nuetra Gallery and Museum on Glendale Blvd. in Silver Lake coming up in September.
Come check out East and West Balanced, it will surely be an art show you'll always remember.
Curated and coordinated by the one and only, Dulce Stein, Dulcepalloza 2018 guarantees a good time.
Just another ditty on who we are, this is a poem my partner Picasso put out:
BALANCED
He is the torch
I am the white
He is the dark
I am the light
We don't impress
to be blessed.
We're blessed
to impress
Hate us or love us
But don't love to hate us
We're the Ying and
the Yang of this Earth
Both with the
same day of birth
He is the east
and I am the west
But together we're
simply the best.
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 2:16 AM UTC
*"Who needs rules? Rules are for fools! I'm the King of the Bees!"
- Buzby, the King of the Bees*
Today the dank atmosphere brought down heavy curtains of fine high thread count cotton a magic carpet ride for a colony of lost bed bugs sturdy and steady so steady and sturdy it crushes my back when it descends down down down to crush the ever loving **** out of me so I pretend to pray
Pretend to pray because all my life I seem to have gotten it wrong they must have wanted more than I could give I couldn't talk to.someone I couldn't see and who who would at least acknowledge that I was being listened jim Morrison loudly proclaimed "YOU CANNOT PETITION THE LAWD WITH PRAYAH" time I thought that seemed pretentious but though I don't doubt the possibility that the LAWD may in his ****** way answer some of those impertinent petitions I a.) don't know those people or b.) slightly resent the fact that he's done so much for swindlers, charlatans, and scammers but never saw fit to send me the super sized blessing we been waiting for
But I was provided for and for that I am grateful tomorrow I'll be dispatched to see the grade school kiddies (just before they get slapped with a handfuls of mercenary stew)
This p
an suffocates
Maybe for the sleepy
A song
"We won't wake up tomorrow
So celebrate
On the ***** blvd
With Lou Reed
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 1:02 AM UTC
One door swings open
Another face walks in
The street cars move along
And the wooden counter
Sets the playing field
For this *** and lime juice
I walked here in the heat
And I hear only voices behind me
But nobody says a word
And I sit at the York on York Blvd
Staring across at the closed doors
Of some old building that nobody
Remembered to keep open
Only the screaming man
Who holds the key to its past
Sneaks in at night to pray
During the afternoon light,
As a beautiful muse makes her future
We all are allowed to forget
Man, it's ******* hot today
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 2:41 PM UTC
The Fates
1914 Heaven & Hell BLVD
Waco Texas 666
C.E.O. Master O. Cards
Incomplete Application For Living
This Is An App. For Living
Name: Last______ First______ Middle Initial__
Home Address: Mt Olive RD
State: AR. City:________ & Zip Code:________
Social Security Number:
*-(ect)-9797
Male or Female (please circle one)
Race: Yellow, Black, Red or Caucasian?
List Previous Acquaintances:
(beginning last to first,
in detail please, do rank them all
& mark which ones are worse)
Name:____________Have known for How Long?____________
Age:____________How would you rate this one?____________
Are you Enemies or Friends now?____________
What will they do?____________ What have they done?____________
Have you been convicted of a Felony?____________
Misdemeanor?____________ Or Likewise?____________
Plead Guilty?____________ Or No Contest?____________
Go against Legal Advise?____________
(If yes, then please explain:)________________________
_____________________________________________
Are you most Happy?____________ Somewhat Sad?____________
A High school Dropout?____________ College Grad?____________
Thin?________ Obese?________ Medium Build?________
Pretty?________ Ugly?________ Clumsy?________ Skilled?________
Disclaimer
If we are to judge you right, Please fill in all the spaces, The process must be quite precise, On Looks, I.Q. and Races. This information’s vital and our tally is what counts, It let’s us know which ones will live and which will need put down.
I hereby swear this is the truth, not made~up to cause hurt,
I understand the consequence should there be falsehoods in word.
Applicant: ______________________
(must be signed in blood or other D.N.A.)
Please Print Name:________________
(so we can read of whom we are to slay)
For questions please call our hotline toll-free @ 1-666-0My-Fate
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 7:19 AM UTC
His form a shadowy sketch, thin and gaunt
Leaning up against a wall.
At the right place, at the right time – as always,
A touch fancy, a bit dressed up
Ready to take on the world;
armed with the freedom to fail.
His occupation?
The consuming of miles of white paper,
His inspiration provided by
A lonely view off of Devil’s Highway
Where Pico blvd. meets the sea.
Seeking the inner root of expression
Through tall red wine bottles and nightly wanderings
In places beautiful yet dangerous,
Packed with life’s complex geometry
– the city breathes, the streets are alive.
Visualizing in delicate penciled lines and thick brush strokes
Vibration, sound and light manifest in brilliant colors,
Depth, shadow, color / the void – all merging together.
Pushing abstract boundaries;
Inter-dimensional windows
Through the intricate layering of transparencies.
Experience of self-discovery.
No mistakes, no traps, just childlike experiments.
Experiments and initiations;
A fusion of universal laws and ethereal dreams.
Kinetic value, composition,
Balance.
Creations – sealed in time like amber.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 5:55 PM UTC
Holy Crap,
They Sold My Name!
No big deal, your name, your email, bought n' sold daily,
Like a baseball card, your picture and vital stats are on the internet,
Your credit card in the fine print tells you they love you much,
But the data they collect, might get credited to such and such.
You're fair game if your sign up for anything.
Now I know I am getting on in years,
Tho spry rhymes with die, I flatly deny
Any notion that
My great beyond is just around the corner!
But Holy Crap,
They Sold My Name!
Got a color brochure
Suggesting that when my travels are over,
A nice place to rest my head might be
St. Michael's Cemetery.
St. Michael's Cemetery
7202 Astoria Blvd, East Elmhurst
(718) 278-3240
Friday hours 7:00 am–5:00 pm
In case you want to check it out too...
Tho I live not in the Borough of Queens County,
My zip code but a hop, skip and jump away,
The cemetery adjacent to the Grand Central Parkway
Which is actually quite thoughtful of
The mass marketer who dreamed up this scheme
(And got paid a plentiful amount of bounty).
My kids could wave as they drive by,
On the way to LaGuardia or JFK, (airports)
And say, guilt free, they visit me regularly!
Sadly, their plot foiled,
I will be buried in
New Jersey soil,
Near to my pop, who liked the
Wide open spaces of suburbia
And shopping on Route 4,
Where the selection is great
And there is no sales tax.
But Holy Crap,
They Sold My Name,
And I am now target marketed,
Niched, pretty soon the boys from AARP
Will come calling, reminding me of the gap
Tween Medicare and the poor house!
Ok ok, grow up you say, tho your hair is full,
And not even a hint of baldness shines forth,
Nonetheless, its color is zebra striped gray,
And when someone says they got my back,
I think, please, please take it and keep it....
Oh yeah,
Dear St. Mikes
You might ask for some of your money back,
Cause this sily scribe is a member of the tribe,
Some call "those ***** (hint: it rhymes with Mikes),"
It starts with K and ends in yikes!
But thanks for thinking of me anyway.
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 5:32 PM UTC
All my friends they smoke this things
And handed me a Chesterfield King- Jawbreaker from Bivouac
Lyrics I tried to memorize
with my friends, while *******
on the syrup crusted
mouths of glass coke bottles.
Singing loud and off key.
On the side of a Ralphs in the stagnant summer swelter.
The soundtrack song when being a punk skater
was a profitable venture,
and landing a kick flip was an achievable
wet dream.
When we could play Lane’s boom box
just loud enough to drown out the whimpering
from our sprained ankles
and scraped up knees
that left the sidewalks on Foothill blvd. so ******
The music we were hearing now,
was way beyond Sunday school.
It was the sound of the sixth period bell,
and rushing to Jeff’s backyard
to smoke his dads cigarettes.
As we got older
We tried to quit the smokes
and forget the lyrics. But sometimes
we’d still proposition people
on the side of that Ralphs
to buy us cigarettes.
When we succeeded
We’d sing that old song coughing, hissing, and wheezing.
-Kevin Theal
Jun 14, 2010
Jun 14, 2010 at 5:08 PM UTC
🛸🪂👣💜💔🫖💛👑🎭🚕🏫🪂🛸
I feel like The time travelers wife.
I feel your glory in this place
In that field and forest my souls wanders seeking thee
Your promises keep you present in spirit I see you in every tree
In every beautiful treasure found
by my enemy and unearthed
I see all your love manifested
A lifetime as many before
SE siente tu Gloria en todo Lugar.
Something amazing has been happenening
Something sad has been wiped out, erased remembered no more.
All is forgiven as if nothing bad ever happened, vacated with prejudice.
Your glory is felt in every place I go.
All the supernatural is being re-activated
2***Twin oaks Blvd master bedroom parroted stain-
-curse is wiped out
oh Addonai Jireh is manifesting truth
The dream has blessed the
tree lovers are redeemed their innocence proven
Something supernatural is manifested here today
Shaddai, Rdd/JPC Elohim, Jireh
So I adore Yawhe and He too manifest
himself to me
If I call on to you too beloved Elohim You'll manifest yourself
in my speech, in my thoughts.
I've sought Rafa he is manifesting
I up to Jireh and
he becomes present
Yahweh I am part of him, Rddjpc-BbaAsg
He's a prayer in church to God
remembered as something very dear and precious
Our names are written in the book of life
Jaweh Jireh Addonai Rafa Shaddai
Manifest yourselves here and now, I love you.
~~~
By- Karijinbba
Bible inspired repost.
Sep 6, 2022
Sep 6, 2022 at 11:45 PM UTC
Manila is fray
Tough enough to die,
Brave enough to see ****** against
the billboards
***** on the marketplace
***** men haggling for prices
the corners are squalid -- rats with ambitions of men take their places in
the esteros
a car-horn blares, wanes old moon music.
I sing songs of malversation. Trains all graffiti.
My heart like a jailbird freed somewhere
in the big sur; love assuages nothing,
comes with a cheap price
a freak December night in Roxas blvd.
i sit on marble benches and dream
of artilleries, garlands on snuff-nosed
barrels, nuns grieving dust
in the ground. communal bathrooms
drunk in foolish caricatures,
the tabloids displaying flowerheads --
the democracy in the streets a ****
for kings, no love to lull
me to infantile sleep
tortured are the bulls
matadors hiding behind faces red like
faces of statesmen flushed with
the spirit of bourbon
whereas we are here river-facing
northern tip of its undying source
like wives on balustrades waiting
to catch the fragrance of inamoratas,
light reenters
interstice of chary webs of dull heads hemmed in like canopies in the throat of overthrown ponds, scraps
of metal sold for a night's worth
of gin and Sinatra,
Deep within the grave, the dead laughing
at the dead living. Atop waters,
yachts peering into drowning fish,
in the middle, a jam of buses
belching lassitudes that strangle
the console, the man in all of us
the same, cursing behind the wheel
and everybody else different
dancing at the top of our heads.
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 5:04 AM UTC
The story opens surrounding a Greyhound bus
But the dialog illustrating must
It was a normal day at the Greyhound lot
But somewhere not far away some thieves were planning a plot
The thieves were planning to rob the Shining Light Jewelry Shop on Solid Hands Blvd
But they were going to use a Greyhound bus being there getaway
No one would suspect a Hound bus going astray
So the Robbers entered the Jewelry store with masks over their face
It was a matter of precaution so no one could trace
The Thieves quickly and moved swiftly out of the Jewelry store and onto the Hound bus
It was a perfect crime with the bus being the thieves plus
However, the Greyhound Company notified the Police that one of there
Buses was stolen from the lot
The Hound bus was now cruising on I-95 of the New Jersey Turnpike heading for Philly
That might sound silly, but the heat was on in New York and New Jersey
The Police were in hot pursue
The Hound Bus was maneuvering in and out of the Turnpike lanes
Yet, the bus was speeding at 80 miles per hour
The chase was on and it was long
The Hound bus being the fastest dog on wheels, but became the subject of ordeal
But the ordeal was for real
A chase that went on for hour after hour
A Road block was at a stretch of the New Jersey Turnpike
But the Hound bus barreled through
However, the Hound Bus had to be stopped before it reaches Pennsylvania lines
The chase was still on, and Helicopters were flying high and being on alert
Suddenly, Gunshots rang out
There was plenty of commotion on the highway being out and about
But somewhere this Hound Bus chase had to end
However, it wasn’t until when
The Thieves had been driving so fast
The Hound Bus was now running out of gas
The Police were able to move in
The Thieves were arrested and out done
The Hound bus was returned and another one of my stories being among.
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 12:14 PM UTC
one crisp morning commute
driving down Rodeo Blvd.
I came across a cloud of leaves
a city block long
hovering like hummingbirds in the street
jiggling to the beat
of each passing vehicle
caught up in the car's drafts
rush hour traffic
would not allow them to fall
hundreds of small green and yellow dots
standing at attention
waving like beauty queens
twirling like dervishes
leaping and spinning in pirouettes
doing cartwheels and somersaults
each tumble tickling my delight
as playful patterns emerged
you could see their musicality
fallen foliage dancing to a silent symphony
suspended in mid air
out of sync with reality
as I, in turn, drove through in slow motion
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 1:46 PM UTC
Her eyes look past,
past my postured figure,
past the drunkard who’s ****** himself,
who sulks in his **** soaked pants,
sulking in drowned regrets and fog,
past the high heeled woman,
who steps over the drunkard’s liquid lines,
which flow across soot stained concrete,
upon this boulevard on this street in Budapest,
we could have been anywhere.
She’s in a bad mood,
doesn’t want to talk,
doesn’t want to listen,
probably doesn’t want to even live,
I understand her,
better than I care to admit,
she’s battling a lung affection,
she’s battling the delusioned stares of countless lustful men,
I tell her she doesn’t have to talk,
I tell her she doesn’t have to listen,
I tell her she’s welcome to come in,
to my sanctuary and simply exist there,
she refuses all my offers,
and I wonder,
what she sees,
when she stares past everything she sees,
I tell her I’m going to write a poem about her,
she asks why,
I tell her I’m a poet and that’s what I do,
I write about moments just like this one,
even though I know words are only words.
I know the frustration,
of trying to explain the unexplainable,
I know the frustration,
of trying to put all this in prose that’s easily digestible,
and herein,
lies the paradox,
if ignorance is bliss,
then genius is torture,
and we are both tortured,
and we are both in denial,
and we both know,
we may never see each other again.
Her eyes look past,
past my postured figure,
past the drunkard who’s ****** himself,
who sulks in his **** soaked pants,
sulking in drowned regrets and fog,
past the high heeled woman,
who steps over the drunkard’s liquid lines,
which flow across soot stained concrete,
upon this boulevard on this street in Budapest,
we could have been anywhere…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
07/09/16
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 1:15 AM UTC
i wish i could put my fist
through this wretched city,
march straight down Monroe
to the capitol building—
that flaccid, ******* hideous tower
looming like the tomb of god
over Tallahassee.
this bastion of neoliberalism
sits in the heart of a red state.
escalating rent and gentrification
go hand-in-hand on occupied Muskogee lands.
statues commemorating genocidal colonizers
defended by neo-Confederate bootlickers
keep watch over Martin Luther King, Jr. Blvd.
everywhere you look in this college town
you’ll find indigeneity reduced to a mascot.
so let’s introduce a little anarchy.
we’ll clash with riot cops
armed with tire-irons and Molotovs.
occupy the academy, transform the cafeteria
into a people’s kitchen. teach freely
on Landis Green. come, dance
with abandon and reclaim these tired streets
from those beset on our alienation.
Jun 6, 2019
Jun 6, 2019 at 6:59 AM UTC
I was going to write a poem
about how I stood on the corner after
work, gripping a squishy handlebar with
my left hand and holding K’s flip phone
in the other.
My stomach flip-flopped across JFK blvd, down 20th street, and to that little alleyway where I stood alone for a while.
An old lady stared at me...
did I trigger a happy memory of her
youth,
or was she just smirking at the beads of
sweat on my forehead and disintegrating
soles of my ballet flats?
My black dress slouched over my body
like I was going to a funeral.
And even though my acro class was yesterday, I still felt upside down. There’s no way I could stay in a handstand that long, but I would’ve done it if it gave me a different explanation for why I was so sick.
Inside of me were those cropping rainbow scribbles that I used to make on Paint, you know, the ones that seemed like they could create a picture but ended up turning into shaking lines?
I could feel the lack of your presence, I could FEEL your not being there. As the minutes passed and I kept standing and waiting my face drooped and it was hard not to cry right there on the spot.
It was just past lunchtime but there was still a steady flow of businessmen filling the sidewalk.
They glanced at me but I just looked
away because they were my father's age
and gave me familiar half-smiles.
I said that I was going to write a poem because I didn't have enough energy to do anything but list words,
but I guess this just turned into a ******
one.
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 12:56 PM UTC
Head south on W Doubt Drive
0.2 mi
Turn right onto N Confused Court
0.8 mi
Slight left to stay on N Frustrated Fairway
1.0 mi
Turn right onto W ******** Rd
0.2 mi
Turn left onto N Hell Hwy
0.5 mi
Turn right onto W Anger Ave
0.2 mi
Turn left onto N Pain Place
1.6 mi
Turn right onto W Suffering St
0.2 mi
Turn left onto N Regret Road
1.1 mi
Turn right onto W Depression Drive
0.2 mi
Turn left onto N 68th St
N 68th St turns slightly left and becomes S Agony Ave
0.4 mi
Continue onto E Therapy Terrace
Slight right to stay on Self Forgiveness Blvd
0.4 mi
Turn right onto E Understanding Way
2.2 mi
Turn left onto Acceptance Alley
0.5 mi
Continue onto Lovers Lane
0.3 mi
Lovers Lane turns slightly right and becomes Peace Place
99,000,000 mi
You have arrived at your destination.
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 2:08 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
You find your excuses,
And I'll find mine,
(Watch the sunset rise),
Stay at four seasons,
We could get by with time,
(Watch the sunset rise),
I could have made a difference in your world,
Just along for the ride,
(Watch the sunset rise),
You'll be fine,
And I'll be fine on sunset boulevard tonight.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 6:43 PM UTC
Body twisted on the sidewalk at mid-day
some pass by without noticing
A woman stops in stride and looks down at him, phone in hand
Her sundress swaying with the
LA breeze
"Is he sleeping?"
An ambulance came to haul him off
Rushed paramedics left one of his shoes on the sidewalk
In use hours ago
now a morbid sneaker monument
to what once was
There is human suffering in America
on landmark roads
next to high-end boutiques
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC