(the
dark los angeles evening is steaming the church – jim morrison)
the
snow is in no hurry
amid
every little flurry
falling
in flutters from the sky
alighting
like white butterflies
o.k.
i
tried
to
circumcise my words
make
them holy and pure
but
i can’t cocoon
come
out as something
that
will make you swoon
with
the beauty of its
new
existence
i
now have two pairs of glasses
one
to see far
and
one with which to read
i
rarely wear either
nothing
worth seeing
pass
a homeless man peeing
in
an alley where no one has
ever
ventured since the concrete dried
sent
a group text
“by
the way
when
the dark streets of decay
take
me away
and
literary scholars come and holler
so
they can write and earn a dollar
you
have my permission to tell all”
though
there is nothing i’ve done
i
haven’t already sung
in
my lyrics without music
in
my most recent sleeping dream
i
was walking on a los angeles sidewalk
covered
in petals of black roses
thinking
of when people have said
to
always say a goodbye when you leave
because
it may be the last time you say it
i
woke to find my cat was dead
life
is a tire with a worn tread
at
any moment…
it’s
not the endowment of death’s bestowment
that
vexes
it’s
these apexes i am offered
spare
change in coffers
that
act as an act that contracts
sub
clauses obligating
meaning
to the empty exercises of existentialism
i’m
just a poet pretending the ending to the poem
is
a literary technique i control
while
all the while the bedroll i unroll
is
looking for more than temporary parking
i
look to be more than the skin cells i shed
on
her bed
but
hunger is never fed
when
you’re really not on the menu
so
i walk these city streets
searching
for nothing
but
the numbing effects of alcohol
after
all it is easier to be alone
then
be a me who must atone
to
be worthy of your graces
i
just want an accept with all my precepts
i’d
even settle for an embrace
aware
of my disgrace
the
kind that will erase
everything
but the moment she is holding me
***
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