an abysmal and lonely existence

the night was soft and lara croft

          was dancing on the screen

she fell asleep on satin sheets

          until a midnight dream

had caused her fright and several lights

          to switch on by her hand

she thought someone was in her bed

          and whispering commands

 

but all alone she checked her phone

          and turned off the t.v.

the dream was gone and with the dawn

          had left her memory

but the next night, eyes closed tight

          and sleep had not yet come

she felt the presence in her bed

          and on her neck a tongue

 

she fled the bed, embraced the dread

          and turned on every light

but no one lay upon her sheets

          or anywhere in sight

she took a sleeping pill or two

          and finally feel asleep

but when she woke she still could hear

          a woman gently weep

 

the next night when she went to bed

          she left on all the lights

but all the same the presence came

          and whispered a goodnight

the presence spooned her in the sheets

          and wrapped her arm around

the presence’s movements were complete

          when its free hand was found

 

groping the woman’s supple breasts

          found on her naked form

although the presence was unseen

          its body was quite warm

and she could feel the presence’s breasts

          pressed firm into her back

she knew this ghost was not at rest

          nor threatening attack

then words were heard like thoughts transferred

          of loneliness in death

“and just like you i’m lonely too”

          she whispered with a breath

and turned to face the presence who

          was young and in a slip

and left their loneliness behind

          when they joined both their lips

 

***

 

 

an ovulating obstetrician from okinawa

jury selection

prosecuting attorney makes the connection

“the author of the dark streets of decay”

he requests my dismissal

 

she didn’t know

she was under mistletoe

in japan they have different traditions

but beautiful women are use

to the use of their lips

no matter what corner of the round

 

sigh is the sound

i’m flushed amid her blush

walking for the first time in a wilderness

where words cannot express

 

each guy needs a seal of approval

but she needs more from a guy

and i haven’t any clue what a woman needs

 

she says love is a seed

its beauty brought forth

by nurturing and attention

 

ugh

and i thought i write bad poetry

 

love is a seed?

love is to bleed

an open vein

where vampires feed

 

this japanese reed

          is pliable to the wind

so i rescind

she needs a friend

and i’m just a dog in heat

roaming these streets

a christmas full moon

illuminates the length

of the alley

where i have just lifted my leg

 

***

 

 

 

the ending ends at the entrance

i was riding the wind without any wheels

in los angeles nothing is real

but what we are told to feel

 

in line with the concubines

          i’ve never been chosen

but in hollywood no one’s a virgin

and almost all have had it in the ass

 

too crass?

 

try a rundown rented room

          needles strewn

          and scattered

like the dreams that are shattered

          wardrobe in tatters

 

i use to write with an eye on the prize

          in holy hollywood size matters

i had to sleep with so many women

          to get this role

now i extol

that other life forms

are not searching their skies for us

 

their ship is a bus

with a multicolored coat

left over from the sixties

 

you can find a temple just for pixies

          somewhere in this city

 

you cry, i pity

then realize i’m looking in a mirror

truth is not clearer

i prefer the haze of lies

sincere goodbyes

when the whole time we were talking

i was trying to remember your name

you’re a speed bump on my road to fame

i’m only interested if you’re the one in the tollbooth

and grant me access

you make me matter so you matter

 

cappuccinos and chatter

make me relevant

where money is spent

          without being earned

 

cigarettes burn

you feign concern

indignant at my intoxication

 

in therapy no one can hear you scream

and the therapist is sworn to secrecy

 

there’s also a sea

well, actually, an ocean

its proximity

also make us relevant

 

i was born here

the sun shining on santa monica

now transplanted harmonicas

lead us over the cliffs by the pier

 

thin and veneer

indecent exposure

 

everyone obsessing over obsessions

i obsess over oscillating obfuscation

          straight to castration

and the peace of knowing

the mind is not real

 

***

 

 

denial and duplicity

people of los angeles live in denial

          that we’re not weird

we’re judge by how well we steer

          at high speeds

          in and out of traffic

 

everyone is very guarded

          some even think they’re a bad ass

          until they die

          by being on the wrong end of a gun

 

oh what fun it is to live in l. a.

 

losers laying in the lingering lie

by the tales of TMZ we live or die

most of us are high

while we talk about holistic organics

 

don’t panic

it’s just another earthquake

but fear we will fake

auditioning for directors of decorum

 

arena and forum

every sidewalk a stage

and i have the leading role

 

talk about death tolls

lick your latte along the rim

your tongue is the surface i skim

 

hey

this is l. a.

fucking is the only thing

          that doesn’t make you fat

 

i graciously accept your congrats

          as i receive another oscar

while the latex lingers with the promise

          it didn’t spill

 

morning fills

and i finally come to the conclusion

that with this congested confusion

          i am madly in love

 

***

 

bottom feeders perform a necessary function

at the party

coke and bacardi

a cigarette is overdue

go outside

rain is the sky

i move my shoes

 

walk the block

invisible boundaries

move on

munch an edible

 

it’s kind of strange

nothing’s changed

i quit and then i start again

addiction is my only friend

 

a recent critique

i heard him say

about the dark streets of decay,

“he is one messed up individual”

 

drenched i find an overhang

an “out of business” shop

i feel the high creeping

light a smoke

and know i can’t argue

with the critic’s assessment

 

but i can never understand

why it is the artist

who is assessed

and not their art

 

high i’m feeling no chagrin

i’m back out in the wet again

 

the earth’s crust is thinnest in death valley

but as i piss in this alley

i know 15 miles is still too far to dig

i twist the top off my flask and swig

 

the downpour forces me to blink

but this immersion

is the only connection i feel

and i recite a verse i wrote

a long time ago,

 

“i saw the sky dance on the earth

connecting all the universe

with air to spare and no one there

the earth and sky were everywhere”

 

soothingly stoned i laugh

light a smoke and say,

“this is me not caring”

 

everyone else is sharing

mostly to fulfill their own need

a purpose, a creed

they are certain their certainty

justifies the bleed

 

and i am isolated

like the last rain drop

that will fall from the sky

 

i only know one day i’ll die

of nothing else am i certain

 

the rain is like a curtain

dropping down on the stage of life

 

i’m drenched and entrenched

how can the truth set me free

when i perceive

that we cannot know what is true

 

misconstrue and undo

when this night is through

i will sleep away the day

then go out and play

on the dark streets of decay

but for now

i’m just really fucking high

 

***

 

 

scott weiland

“i read the news today, oh boy”

 

we never thought we would be caught

          dancing to decrees

addiction is the noose that’s brought

          unto the hanging tree

we wish we could be as we should

          but wishes don’t come true

we all will reap just what we sow

          and always pay what’s due

 

another breath that’s after death

          i cannot say although

the days are lost within the cost

          that every addict knows

i’ve outlived almost all my heroes

          who wrote while they were high

we roll the dice against advice

          and watch each other die

i say goodbye to you and i

          as you have left our shores

you’ve joined the list, you will be missed

          as all your whispers roar

 

(take time with a wounded hand cause it likes to heal)

 

***

 

a list of things to lie about today

it’s not that i’ve gone away

from the dark streets of decay

i’ve just changed the way i stay

 

i no longer drink

throw up in sinks

i no longer smoke

i’m almost a dweeb with half a joke

except that i live on edibles

high all the time

 

it’s cold tonight with wet surfaces

but i’m feeling fine

walking

i love my romance with the night

 

i did try to change my perspective

thinking somehow it would be corrective

but this world i drew for the chosen few

reveals all the clues

for even a dimwitted detective

 

and so i’m walking

the homeless are coughing

black is the distant sky

and i write on this wet autumn night,

 

“a summer ago

in the heart of the city

a homeless man died

in a world without pity”

 

and i continue to walk

steadfast in my belief

of no relief

not even a mortal

curtains and portal

pretending to be

the oracle of oz

giving guidance to gullible

 

i give no point of view its due

hope does not spring eternal

nothing more around

than what you already see

no chance at liberty

because your reality

is merely perceived

 

and so i am focused

on me where i am

without reason to be

i don’t give a damn

 

there is no cure for the human condition

 

there just is

and then there isn’t

and that’s all there ever was

 

***