nothing here was ever mine

my shadow’s a reluctant companion

as i walk this city night

skyscraper walls sidewalk canyons

nestled in the neon lights

 

here i am again

notebook and ink

planning to drink

cold enough to jacket my skin

 

the streets are filled with tires that spill

the sound of spinning treads

walking this way, nighttime l.a.

i’m neither lost nor lead

 

walk by a store locking its doors

i smile but i am ignored

just shy of october i’m only sober

cause there’s no bar near these shops galore

 

sidewalks and bars i will not discover

the liquid of lies that leak out of lovers

words that endeavor are not very clever

if all you woo are birds of a feather

 

taking my time walking and rhyme

wishing i weathered with women sublime

midnight is mocking my minimal touch

i turn to my shadow and give it a punch

 

maybe its better l.a. isn’t wetter

as everything is all about me

i walk all these streets unbound and unfettered

while wishing tonight i may see

 

the solace of eyes that fill with surprise

as she then takes all of me in

i’d make like a magnet and be polarized

till we are but skin upon skin

 

but that’s not the present i presently made

i fade into nothing like shadows in shade

and pretense a defense that nothing else matters

but with one touch this philosophy shatters

 

i carpool my conscience with whiskey and smokes

turn right at the corner my toes are like spokes

on feet that will take me wherever i go

i’m still fucking sober, it’s starting to show

 

i’m looking for any place with alcohol

poor planning on my part has me forestalled

l.a.’s abounding, commotion caress

ah, there’s a bar, time to write less

 

*

 

last song on the jukebox was sweet caroline

the lyrics still linger and i’m feeling fine

stuck in my head what someone else said

love is a road kill violently dead

 

and so i walk texas tea talk

royalties make me someone who’s bought

white whiskey flask just had to ask

bartender filled it like a tank of gas

 

i paid him double while doubles i drank

among famous poets i’ll never rank

manuscripts ready without submit

do more than writing i’d rather quit

 

publisher calling, agent is too

electronic age can’t call in the with flu

after i die, i’m sure will be soon

they’ll call me a poet give me my due

 

so they can make money off what i wrote

i’ll become somebody nobody quotes

who were my influences? easy to say

lyrics on radio showed me the way

 

poets aren’t born within their first words

poets are born from what they have heard

some people paint, some people dance

some people make money, me i just glance

 

and write what i see from corner of eye

and see why my heroes were lonely beside

some lovely lady with tender caress

but nothing can welcome the unwelcomed guest

 

we feel that we are, each pen stroke a scar

that no matter how close we only feel far

defective inside we write and we hide

that even when lust has been satisfied

 

love as discussed is filled with disgust

when it is required to love someone like me

we write so you’ll see we’ll never be free

till love dances after the last dance of lust

 

wherein lies the touch i disbelieve and i cuss

when the satisfied peels scales from your eyes

you’ll see me writing poetry, “fuck all your lies!

you’ll leave once you realize i’m a sore oozing puss”

 

sex is a hex that leaves us perplexed

i touch her and still i feel i am vexed

most witches are satisfied with this single spell

i need a sorceress who can cast a quell

 

who blankets my fetal without changing my strange

even when words on a page i rearrange

she just holds me up with a caress and a wink

till i’m strong enough again to bleed pens of ink

 

yeah, i know, she doesn’t exist

she defines love on how she subsists

on my responsibility towards how i fulfill

her happiness wherein she measures my skill

 

so here i am, walking 3 a.m.

drunk and still drinking, tired of thinking

that thoughts are how we figure things out

 

world without sun, time to have fun

let more whiskey flow, cigarette burn glow

lights the way on

the dark streets of decay

 

*

 

dawn is here, nothing’s too clear

but nothing ever is after too many beers

fading like summer stuck in the wind

even journeys to nowhere come to an end

 

god is not magic, prayers are not spells

i know about heaven while writing my hell

i am a writer lost in his ink

stillborn’s still a fighter that lost on the brink

 

you ask what i’m thinking as 6 becomes 7

all kinds of ideas that won’t get me to heaven

cyclists cycling a wealth of health

sunshine erasing my wealth of stealth

 

finding my way home, quiet i roam

l.a.’s becoming a busy beehive

it feels so good to be alive

regardless of what may come after

pursue her touch and gentle laughter

 

hinges on coffins eventually rust

ashes to ashes, dust to dust

i usually end on a negative note

but as i have another smoke

 

the sun has come to claim the day

cleansing these dark streets of decay

morning embracing a soothing chill

the heat of midday will violently kill

but, this moment, i do more than survive

as said, “it feels so good to be alive”

 

***