an l.a. poem

i’d never been where i once was and never will again

the moon had rose without repose as clouds were rolling in

i walked the streets, shoes on my feet, the rain was coming down

my smokes and flask i took to task while i just walked around

 

sometimes i chose an asian rose enduring every thorn

but love conceived would not achieve more than being stillborn

but still i walked the city streets without a master plan

even after i married her whose birth place was japan

 

i walked the nights like one in flight neglecting all her charms

i never was behind the wheel but drove her to his arms

the night was stained as i remained in love with my l.a.

where even angels fear to tread although it bares their name

 

i haven’t drank in many months though sometimes walk and smoke

i love it when the rains return and linger till i’m soaked

but nothing’s as it use to be when i started this blog

the only thing back then for me was more hair of the dog

 

i still don’t hold to karma thoughts or one who will forgive

the only thing i know for sure we die from how we live

the alcohol won’t kill me now but something surely will

it doesn’t matter if we starve or if we get our fill

 

i use to sleep upon the beach or in an alley dark

i’ve woke up where the blackest hair upon white sheets was stark

but l.a.’s not the kind of place where poets grow and thrive

my words are scars that i can trace and show i’m still alive

 

but as i said with ink i’ve bled those days remain no more

i’ve left those nights and the bar fights and now i’m mostly bored

but that old call of alcohol no longer echoes sweet

and was the only reason that i use to roam these streets

 

and now the sun’s part of my fun from midday until night

i owe another novel that i just can’t seem to write

but windy days and april nights and california drought

do not fill one bereft of hope with things to write about

 

i only see the apple tree as molecules combined

anything more’s a mystery that i leave undefined

and hatching schemes for novel themes, a moral, plot and point

leave no words for fallen angels which god will not anoint

 

and so i walk to restaurants, eat hardy and walk home

the dark streets are still in decay but i no longer roam

sometimes i kiss the moistened lips of asian girls i meet

but conversation always slips and falls into defeat

 

i don’t believe in absolutes, in moral truths or lies

and in the “pointless” that i preach i’m not their kind of guy

and so i am just who i was when i would walk and drink

and now it’s time to get real high and stop these thoughts i think

 

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