i only feel out of place among the human race

house party

got invited via text

i did the accept

haven’t seen them

in awhile

 

their house is on a hill

you can see the ocean

there’s a bartender

a catering service

 

i got a kabob

and a corona

listened to the limousine set

defined by diction

the “issues” dance

of all we must enhance

in order for there to be order

liberty and justice for all

you’ll grow tall

if you eat your greens

 

if they knew what i believe

and what i write

i would be a leper

to be put out of sight

although one of these stifled

bored trophy wives

would want to sleep with me

but she wouldn’t understand

a word i said

 

the meat on a stick

is now just wood

the corona drained by my lips

i ask the bartender

to make me something strong

 

go out on the back lawn

crest of their hill

light a smoke

stare at where

the moon has painted

a white stripe

across the salty sea

 

i feel like i’m alone

in a tiny boat

in the middle of that ocean

a no moon night

surrounded by darkness

eternal emptiness

a no hope solitude

let myself ooze

into the ether of

the surroundings

and finally be at peace

 

my paradise is slithered

by a princess snake

she doesn’t seem fake

one of the caterers on a break

lighting a smoke

next to me

 

i switch my drink

to my cigarette hand

reach into my pocket

pull out my flask

offer

 

she takes

with thanks

drains half in a swallow

my kind of girl

 

“you look out of place”

she says

as she passes me my flask

 

“only when i’m with

the human race”

i shrug

 

she appraises me

with a long sideways look

 

i offer my flask again

she drains the rest of it

while i down my drink

we both light another cigarette

 

“so what’s your art?”

(great, she’s already got me pegged)

 

“poetry”

i tell her

then wonder if she is imaging

a terrified effeminate boy

cowering in a closet

or

a tortured artist

puking his self-destruction

into a tawdry toilet

 

either way

i doubt i’m getting laid

 

“mines painting”

she tells me

(oh great

an art form

that requires talent

i’m feeling out of place again)

 

“my break is over

thanks for the drink”

she smudges her cigarette

in an ash tray she passes

as she goes inside

 

i return to the bar

offer the bartender

a hundred dollars

for any bottle he can spare

go out the front door

and start walking back down

into the heart of l.a.

and my dark streets of decay

 

***