designated smoking area

last night i was with a beautiful buxom redhead

with ivory colored skin and soft full lips

at the irvine meadows amphitheater

 

in this moment

          rob zombie

                   korn

 

the crowd was a sea of black clothing

i was wearing green with blue jeans

(guess i didn’t get the memo)

 

i think she and i were the only ones not high

or drinking the varieties of intoxication

the venue had to offer

 

exhausted from hours of dancing

to really good music

she drove us to candlewood suites

i contemplated rubbing her feet

but once we were between the sheets

we found sleep to be

the pinnacle of our desire

until the alarm clock conspired

to wake us at six a.m.

the prior guest must have set

we unplugged the foul beast

but i was already out of the sheets

shoed my feet

and found the key card

 

in an adjacent dirt field

with complimentary coffee

surrounded by piles of dog shit

i hit my cigarette

while watching the joggers

on the san diego creek trail

try to stop their coffins from being nailed

too early

 

seeing the hour i hit the shower

while sleeping beauty

dreamt of a handsome prince

checkout’s at noon

we didn’t even spoon

and soon i will be back to my ways

on the dark streets of decay

which is more a state of mind

than an actual place

 

at least i’m not one of these suits

scurrying to cars with dry cleaning

racing off to reasons they stayed

at an irvine hotel

 

last night the singers had a lot

of lyrics about hell

but this wordman can tell you

that the portal to eternal suffering

is south orange county

 

i guess i should eventually eat

thinking about red meat

as i pass the occupied treadmills

in the hotel workout room

on my way to another cigarette

 

i notice an ambulance driver

polishing his hub cabs

“there’s the author of

the dark streets of decay

let’s just stay

the way this poet plays

he’ll need our services soon”

 

i’m waiting for a her text from the room

to let me know she’s awake

and out of the shower

my winter rose blooms at a later hour

so i’ve crawled under a cabana

to violate pristine pages

with the vileness of my words

activated by four cups of coffee

 

people always tell me about consequences

and i’m always amazed that puppets can talk

i stare at their strings while i reply

that consequences don’t exist

it’s just your interpretation of events

once you understand sensory perception

you will realize we all have

our own version of why

at present there are billions of view points

which causes me to question

even the validity of the existence of reality

 

so i just do what i feel is real

like dancing at the last show

at irvine meadows amphitheater

next to a green eyed goddess

all in black

an incredible rack

and lips that after a kiss

can levitate the weight

of all passion

 

***