Monthly Archives: October 2014

Los Angeles (the City of Angels)

City of Angels, City of God

take me in and save me

From the Horrors of the East;

I know that things are different somewhere,

because they just have to be.

There’s a Man with a coffin chest

and Holocaust-oven Eyes who follows me

He’s walking through the Desert night

and He’s steadily closing in;

California please, I implore,

Has the Western Coast got room for one more?

I know Big Sur will save me

from the Jersey shore.


the Gun Rule

there is an exception to all the rules of the world,

And I call it the Gun Rule;

All rules are changed

when a gun is pressed against your forehead

Requiem for the Suburbanite Knights of Union County

Another day begins in the asphalt sprawl As the leaves turn brown, dry, die and fall

and urbanite saints sweat in old paint-stained overalls

covering cinder-block walls with honey-dew hues and cleaning out pissed-on bathroom stalls;

More Trailer park homes and Willowbrook Malls, Uncles ashamed to answer telephone calls.

Another dawn of teenage tragedies that go on behind closed doors,

More of the same rat-trap allure for the television-drunk media whores,

the advertisement junkies, who get high on polished J crew clothing,

and sales expanded from self-loathing, artificial desire to stay cool, stay Hip,

More of the same Lisa Fitz heartaches and Community College blues,

alcoholic mothers, fathers, brothers, lovers who abuse booze and lose

touch, without a care for the fistfuls of hair in the bathroom sink, torn out

in grief and rage because dad couldn’t think of somebody other than himself;

More long-distance calls That you make to Iraq, crying and waiting for him to call back

and low moans on the telephone, when he tells you he’ll be coming home soon

Another dream committed suicide today, jumped from the Verrazano-Narrows

Would rather slam it’s Head into the New York Bay than say Hey, May I take your order for one more fucking day,

East-side mind glide by find peace in the sprawl, make sense of  it all,

Pick up the glove and play ball,

and if you don’t,

Then there’s the door;

just give our regards to whoevers out there

little blanket-bug!

when I wake up in the morning and I’m all comfy in my bed,

I fell like a lil blanket-bug, and I burrow in my head!

To the Powers that Be: (Changing World.)

My brain is tapioca,

Resting in a bowl of pudding skull,

And I’m ready to scoop it out and dump it

into the Kill Van Kull.

Things are changing, and the Wheel is turning,

and it just won’t be the same;

The Caliphate’s returning

to the East spreading and like a Flame,

and the Capitalist Octopus to the West,

That’s Rotting Marco’s brain.

This uneasy peace is falling to sleep

and the pieces have all been set;

the board is perilously laid,

Just waiting to make the Check.

And as the Powers that be stood quietly

with fingers meshed and held their breath,

the next Oppenheimer, Destroyer of Worlds was born,

And he’s ready to answer

the blast of the horn.

Wisdom (chew on this)

The joke’s on them,

because I knew all along that meter only accepts quarters;

I just wanted to get rid of all those pesky nickels!

get back down.

put aside

the thoughts of suicide

so you can let another

dreadful day go by.

sit inside

and wallow in your

lost pride

and feeble attempts

to get past your bedside.

drag out the door.

can’t do this no more.

big bad max provides relief,

albeit it brief.

best bros make it better

but not for long.

you know where you belong.

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