Las Vegas on a Freeway

The house was unknown before we came
Before we brought it to life with our music
and pot-coughing and our orange citrus beverage
Spiked, spiked, spiked
Like our flesh as we stripped down to our pretty underwear
Still water met with cold bodies
Bodies full of smoke and laughter and orange citrus beverage
We brought it to life
We did, we did

Untitled

Too much time
alone
in my own mind
Too little time to
examine and find
Your time, so fragile
Your mind, like concrete
Thick
but no, not in a bad way
Just is, just is
I sit and I wait
For what, for what?
I don't know how to take
What to give, what to fake?
Why do I try to be, to see
I don't want to say 'don't' anymore
No more, you whore

Familiar Place

As I sit here in my familiar place
familiar but not the same
I think of the times we had
The ones where we sat laughing in the rain
Dancing and screaming with delight at the heavens
and I remember the mundane
The average and the normal
The sky breathing with us
A breeze floats by carrying
this familiar feeling
Its containment in a summer breeze
Not quiet the same as the fall but so close, so close
I remember the tears at midnight and sometimes mid day
I remember the books and the essays and the essays and the essays
That put us to sleep in lecture hours
And made us one in the smallest way
We were one for once, for God's sake we were one
And we will never be alone or gone from the familiar
It will follow us till the end of our days, till the end
When the sky is no longer breathing and the familiar is the absolute
And the joy never, never ends, there again we meet

Short Story

 Cup clicks down, smooth on the rough brick walkway. My eyes flick up(the way he'd like it) to find him giving me what looks like my morning coffee or tea.

 (whichever he's decided is best.)

 Adjust my eyes back down to peer into the porcelain. It's not so dark;must be tea. Making my eyes dance, trying to get him to say something. The first of the morning conversations.


 'You smell like smoke.'


His voice comes and my eyes become fixed far away.

 Beginning my rhetoric, consoling the evergreen opposite me. Patches spindling out of control.  A lone fiery ladybug, scavenging over the leaves, hunting for aphids. The leaves are plump with moisture, infecting it with the sky. It's cloudy like my mind and my lungs.

Reach behind my head with one arm and fumble for the flower pot full of mini cigars and butts of cheap cigarettes with white filters. In the pot my hand also finds a small tin case in one corner. The same corner it's always in.
 Lifting it from its hiding place and give it over to his waiting hand. They're pink with cold and anger,his hands.

But it's better than white.
 If they were white his fists would clenched and he would be furious.

Either way it doesn't matter he can't stay mad for too long. He puts the case into his jean jacket, and his slippers scuff against the pathway as he gets up to leave.

Clock ticks silently in my head 8 times. The time it takes for him to get through our door and close himself in behind it. Unsheathing  a white filtered cigarette from my skirt pocket, simultaneously pouring out the black tea all over the walk. It clatters down and I take a deep breathe, inhaling my already lit cigarette.

Watch the ladybug for a while.  Watch its tiny body cascade over a single leaf. Tittering along in a dull hurry.

She knows she has plenty of time.

The day is young and the sky is calm.

 Inhale again and throw the remainder of that cigarette into the its sad grave, where many before it have gone to die, their flame extinguished.

My bare feet touch the ground, grasp the brick for support, holding my familiar cup in hand.

 Turning on my heels slow and shallow,  walk to the front door. Touch the wood we installed last Christmas and turn the frigid brass knob.

 (I wanted gold)

 Remember that the day is still quite young.

My Family Tree

My Father flies kites in the backyard
higher and higher to find his Peter Pan youth
My mother listens to cheap gospel music
and keeps her break on
Jumping! to high speeds
The car reels, suspension,
tuning, off,off, off
My brother the quiet gentleman
sleepless in his dizzy dream
of video games
playing over and over
Solitude for his mind
Worlds away in L.A.
Vamp. clans and busted up cars,
fairies and experience points
And I in the middle
Laugh quietly at the
Kaos of my Family Tree

So much for San Diego

Tango! Tango!
Oscar! With a heavy Spanish accent
Romeo!Romeo! Where for art thou
tow truck man?
I didn't want the last envelope anyways! Toyota SUV!
Couldn't wait until morning, couldn't wait
Nice feather fedora man
didn't anyone ever tell you no one ever wins those games??
As you stroll away, way past your bed time
Your wife won a puppy from the grab machine
Guess you win, you win
with your stereo at midnight
Denny's; defeat
So much for San Diego

Ghetto theaters are the Best!

Kids with candy stained lips
And beer bellies from too much empty food
Reach past me to try and pickpocket
But no good and so the other gives it a go
Followed by a stern hit from a mother who holds no control
The ticket stubs are like raffle tickets
"I've won" says the "B" rated popcorn stand
Only three shows, only the best
the most wanted and the most watched
Cellphone lights to find the way
Followed by no message to turn off your electronics
But the audience is quiet save the hollow crunch of "B" rated popcorn
After the show I press against the graffiti ridden door
No shame or hope of redemption
Only a casual embrace from the movie goer
Going in and out of the small ghetto theater
Outside bikes ride by
with stereos that blast commercials in Spanish
I got a tattoo down here once,
twice, three, four times
I remember now what it is to live the ghetto life
Even just to see a movie
For six dollars instead of twelve...