you could find her
predawn by
the old covered
bridge
if you moved like a shadow
conceived in the less than light
a world of silence
in her head
overtook the duck pond
by the lily pad bed
then the light
then traversed
the sky
only the pond
remained dark with
her reflection
and the night
then the voices
began to bubble
anaerobic from the depths
then the cry to stop
then the aeroplane
then the cry for help
an orchestra of crickets
picked up where
they left
off
you can find her
predawn by
the old covered
bridge
that's where she died
that's where she
lives
Most rock stars walk the memory back to the days when every concert was hard pressed and hard won, when they knew personally every groupie and went afterpartying with the club, fresh cuts on their lips. When gigs were dive bars, audiences unpredictable if not hostile, and pay came in the form of an open tab. When a station wagon full of amps needed a jump. The simple luxuries on the road. A bitter loaf of bread and one night stand. A pan full of eggs and bacon. Walls dressed in hard wood. The percolating coffee pot to ringing ears. Crazy laughter after what just happened? Most rock stars dream of such beginnings. Through the gold-plated bars of today's high hung song bird cage. Awash in stale hits. Buried in mountains of paperwork. Studying the tax codes. Dining with divorce lawyers. Oh, how a dream can turn back on itself.
half of all i did ended with someone else's song on my lips and a bottle of jack in my hands. hemingway went fisherman mad in the end. old man and the sea. im american too and write my own life down. not all that well traveled and gave up on dionysus. my rebirth wasn't pretty. i sing my own sad songs to a can of orangina. fall for pulp and fiction. author, editor, publisher, marketer, designer. that's my bottleneck now. i cannot give a damn if they like it. I put my heart and soul in it anyway.
new cars and i would rather keep my old one, it was new 14 years ago, when i still rather kept my old one, when my old one, now, was new
down an uneven stretch of stockton boulevard in summer, south of sacramento, i came across a classy broken broad, remarkably postured like a runway girl, walking bubblegum pink stilettos, long tan legs up to daisy dukes, a halter top, don't stop, the mechanical boyish stroll, dry heat tempered by a bottle blue parasol angled off her skinny shoulder blade, urban electric milkmaid conjuring the ghost, to the tomb of some unknown soldier
comin together
fallen apart
broken spirit
broken heart
cotton soak
dollar store folk
iphone clone
addicted to
coke
city spatial
interracial
summer storm
form by
form
bus exhausted
paper chasin
spirits deadbolt
doors
find a window
look outside
thank god 4
a home
was an idiot on
the road takin up
two lanes stepped
down from a ford
truck to deliver
fists on a prius
stopped behind
him
what are you doing
out on the road
with your rage
idiot
you gonna
get hit by a
car
Several years had passed and talking to others became refreshing and I was drawn off my guard. I could hold a dialogue with you, maybe withstand an argument. Then I could look into your eyes without losing my train of thought. Then you wouldn't mistake me for dishonest. My skin became a millimeter thicker and I wasn't so cold at night. Then I was not so sensitive to things you said. My social norm restoration experiment was paying off. Life was less a collection of used parts and problems I wished would only die away. Engagement became rewarding if not organic. I set my clock to the frequency of several functions a day. I demanded no less than I show up. Not every meeting was reciprocated, and not all of those that were, bore fruit. I found only one good conversation a day (face to face) was enough to keep my finger on the pulse of culture.
I remember when I looked emaciated like those boys trapped on Pattaya beach in the Thai cave licking the limestone walls. My life driven by anger and fear took me there in my twenties and again in my thirties. I was in certain darkness and could not get out. My heartbeat slowed by pulses of heat and flashes of pain. I was so lonely and surrounded by loners like me. I thought it was me against the world, and it was. Me against the world and me against myself. You cannot live long that way, and you cannot live that stance forever. Some die young. I had to make a full turn. I was wounded needing love. I was hateful needing peace. Fire needing water. Impulsive needing patience. Selfish needing out. Needing meaning, needing work. Needing a meaningful relationship to myself and others. A devotion to a spiritually seeded cause. All life is like mine. I had to humble myself and see the universe in me. Cool my jets and stop taking off, running away. Stay. I had to stay and breathe into it. All life can be renewed. All life is like that, yours and mine, all life is valuable. We need you.
you brought me a fortune from a cookie. it was dawn and I scratched your back. you stood on my chest where I could admire you. you swished your tail. the sky outside began with orange. a hot summer day ahead. we live in the valley by the air field. i can hear the engines fire and props slice up the sky. we are living, we are loved. magnetic fields cannot resist us.
she may have been depressed but she was not sad she hid in the mountainside when the rains came hard like tropical noon. she once was tranquil now a monsoon. the blue lady was downcast from time to time and only we were lucky to catch her swollen tears in our banks. we irrigate our lands and feed our children for to carry on and on and on and on...
÷÷this post was inspired by the painting the blue lady by Tameeka Knox, an artist from Sacramento.÷÷
once upon a cloud
feeling rather proud
all accounts break even
children awful loud
you cracked the piggy open
eyes as wide as coins
the exclamation spoken
iowa! des moines
a hundred silver dollars
in bed with porcelain
you lifted up your collar
to hide the widest grin
each child given two
and told not what to do
one was twice as nice
another not a clue
what remained then was invested
in reclamation of
the sky
to turn her
back from black
to blue
descend from your high flying escalade. descend from your earned letters and titles and surname. acknowledge you have never gone a week without food. a month without shelter. 60 days without love or care of some kind. acknowledge your privilege.
descend and be
decent.
how sitting still can help you. cultivates patience. attends to your processes. you begin to be able to feel yourself breathing. see yourself thinking. experience your muscles tense and relaxing. form relationships with your emotions. fortify your philosophy. it is not wrong or right. it is effective or ineffective. variations on usefulness lead to fresh choices. meditation empowers you. see how you view situations and challenges. how you react. reflect upon a stale way of being. life is all changes. you are born to adapt. recreate yourself so you can be most helpful to the world you live in. most useful. roll your sparkling super self out and give thanks, now! we need you.
dawn has struck
the sky is turning colors
the last bit of dynamite
blown. shredded paper
tumbles aimless on the breath
of passing cars
what will we
do now
love was often pushy
to get you on your feet
love was often bitter
before it could be
sweet
settlers of land
painted faces and hair
nationalist fervor
fireworks stare
bye bye
bye bye
parading at night
smoke and bright light
cut through the forests
river of white
bye bye
bye bye
river of red
river of blue
fourth of july
goodbye
fare the well
stars by stripes
fifty two gun
salute
revolutionary snares
the flute
bye bye
world wars
peaceful sweet sandy
shores
bye bye
stepping across the honeycomb of the mind i found a little home what was windowpaned in amber, encased by five walls of durable paper, gone gray. words were written there. i tried to make them out. i saw by the script they were my words. now it became a message from my past self i had to decipher. ten years old i was mostly lucky, and happy. i learned ways to deceive myself when i was sad. now i would and could not. i have to be real. tricks are for kids.
i lit three candles. morning, noon and night. fox trot of the forest. lovely shadow. light. the world was like an ocean. self-contained in atmosphere. i heard you by your dialect. to see you out of sight.
star made of matter
star beyond ice
all the hearts feeling
tumble through space
like numbers chase
paint off the
dice