as always

out here alone

no phone

still walking the streets

can’t remember

the last time i had a drink

these days i just get high

sometimes very

like this moment right now

 

l.a. was hot today

the night is pleasant

and noisy

head lights

neon signs

and the requisite homeless person

screaming at the perceived

 

my chest hurts from smoking

too many cigarettes tonight

 

and i’m just bored

at home i have five novels

and a volume of poetry

i am reading and when

i’m not asleep i stare at

the emptiness between the walls

 

when you believe like i do

there’s not a whole lot of people who

want to hang out with you

 

my literary heroes are people

i’m sure i would personally despise

 

artists are not wise

we’re just self-centered enough

to think self-expression

is an achievement

 

i turn another corner and

escape the santa ana winds

i light a smoke

and stand here

watching the world wrestle

with the wind

 

a few days ago

i read my most recent poem

to some people

some of them cried

one even said that they

stopped writing when

they started reading mine

because they felt they could never

write as well as me

 

this was a young person

so i read to the group

the first poem i wrote

way back when i was 17

 

another listener said

that they hoped i didn’t

use that as an example

of a bad poem

because it was really good

 

it made me feel good

all these words i wile

away the hours with

have not been a

complete waste of time

 

at my age i don’t

think of what’s ahead

but what i leave behind

 

i went to get a cigarette

and saw i have a lit

one in my hand

time to start walking again

let my thoughts know

who is in command

 

just passed a bar

bouncers breaking up a fight

not tonight

last time i was at a bar

was halloween

i was designated driver

i kept going outside to smoke

i was sober but i had

a really good time

 

and that’s the rhyme

that never goes out of season

 

words are my reason

but i just can’t write

another goddamn novel

 

i keep starting them

but they never match

the way i feel when

i write these poems

 

but they only come out

after a full gestation period

 

so i don’t write everyday

in-between i feel lost

as i said

words are my reason

 

everything else is treason

and me trying to be

something i’m not

 

i’ll be a whore

if you provide the cot

 

inside a liquor store

i buy another pack of smokes

and a gatorade

get lost in the song

on the radio

 

the clerk rolls his old eyes

when he realizes i am high

 

i nod goodbye

retake the sidewalks

and remember why i love

walking l.a. at night

 

it’s a feeling of freedom

i can’t adequately express

everything is happening everywhere

and i couldn’t be any more invisible

 

looking around

and then going in a direction

freedom at the intersection

i’m not going anywhere in

particular

there’s no rush

no expectation

just the moment i am in

 

memories make cuts

that turn into

permanent scars

and if you could make

your own future

why would you have chosen

this present

 

the moment is my address

where molecules on their

merry-go-rounds do

nothing but obey the laws of physics

 

ah, l.a.

there’s actually a recycling bin

for my empty gatorade bottle

i have to force it in

crushing an empty can of full throttle

 

i go inside a mini-mart

buy a butterfinger

midnight munchies

 

i thought it was earlier than that

 

it will take a few hours

to get home once i figure out

where i am

so i better get started

nothing counteracts

the night’s spell

like a sunrise

 

***