If you blur your eyes
just enough
christmas lights appear to be hovering
purposefully around a tree's branches
their shine flattering
dim enough to hide the green string
the light could have wings
be fireflies
even in the deadliness of winter
with the cold of snow
purchased decoration can glow
celebrating, Spring to come
spinning around a barren tree
Shoes in
Hollywood
glitter because the sparkled pavement rubbed off.
I understand why I wear black hooker boots here,
Platform high enough to stretch the gum to it's snapping point
And allow me to leave the old tasteless gook behind.
I don't live in a ghetto.
I'm down the block.
I waste away in the turn around of a dead end street.
Beat up shoes hang,
Tongue sticking out in defiance from the power wires over my alley.
But instead of seeing the cop's fictionalized idea of a drug dealer
Standing underneath,
I think of the poor barefoot child who stepped on a syringe
-Or maybe it was glass and he was already high.
Either way it is sad.
Engine sounds of an El Camino brings me comfort
.............................................
-Because I know they have a gun.
A Pig car dread for the same reason.
I don't live in nameless dark,
We are allowed streetlights, ours are just dimmed.
As if we need help carpeting our fornication.
For each crack in the ground,
I ask how many people this street has opened up for and swallowed whole.
I wonder how many adopted and aborted babies were conceived
On a couch or against a fence in this alley.
How many guilty mothers curled around their unborn
And decided to leave it in the
Dumpster two driveways down?
Is each black gum print a marker where some lost,
Molested child fell and drooled the gum in a drunken stupor?
I bet Beverly Hills kids remember to pick up their gum when they come to.
The high point of my street being the garden, which grows, ungrounded
And half decomposes because no one has time to decorate,
Or is it simply no one comes home voluntarily?
I am always driven home by police,
I broke curfew again and never know what to call home
When they ask where mine is.
There is a spider in my roller blades
Because their wheels won't go over the rocks that warn me away,
Or grip the streets slippery by the overflowing gutter of tears.
This street is full of cars that spew class,
And one-bedroom apartments that began as practice for owning a house
But became the dog carriers we sleep in
Because we always want to move away.
I don't care enough to fight out loud anymore.
Maybe I am inhumane enough to get a bigger cage soon.
I don't live in the gutter.
I'm up a curb.
But most people I know sleep on a sheet less mattress on the floor.
We try not to think of bed bugs
Or admit the flies that follow us come from maggots.
Maybe we're afraid one of us will go to the bathroom in the dark
To feel the worms crawling between our toes freshly coated by a 99 cent
Store sock sewn inside out.
I am not the projects. I am one cellblock up.
Still close enough to cheer with the bullets on New Years,
And close enough for my one-night stands
To find their keys with the hovering helicopter's light
-So they don't bother me as I try to coax myself to release my phobia of falling,
Falling off the Ballona Creek Bridge,
.......
Falling asleep.
With no luck,
As usual I'll drift into tomorrow and smeared knowledge.
Buildings here,
Still have burn marks paint can't reach.
Potholes here,
Sink down in hopes of not being seen and provoking
Screaming noises from innocent cars.
...And ambulances always seem to go a little slower here.
Earth time to lick its wounds
At some point
I had to be more than shoulders for the rain to
stop-drop-and-roll on.
But the drops are putting out a fire that was already getting tired.
Windshield wipers play sword fight with the car next to them
I wonder if they get bored and give up with the uselessness of it all
The clouds are sliced open
Every tear that drags down the side of a building pulls part of the structure with it
My tears fall silently these days
I don't let them interrupt my conversations on the phone,
My thunder is now a whimper I swallow in my voice.
Wiping tears away like my cheeks are allergic
I wonder if the sides of buildings get red and sore
when the sun hits and sucks out the last bit of moisture in the clay.
Rain seems to bring out the sadness in everyone's "fine"
It's almost as if the effort we put into our lie dims as fast as the sun in bad weather.
Even stars are dead to me now
I still want to love
Even more now knowing I have no idea what the word means
Standing in my Apt,
My hand moistens the window pane
and the street lamp across the way doesn't light anything inside me anymore
And I breathe in quickly like I just stopped crying
Huffing in the smell of the rain
Even the earth needs time to lick it's wounds.
Main Page
|
This site sponsered by
|
