took
some time for tacos and tecate
i
know. when don’t i?
you
can write poetry anywhere
though
i’m standing under a street light
so
i can see this page in my notebook
i
take out my flask
twist
off the top
raise
a toast to the air
“this
is for all the people
who
don’t accept me as i am”
tilt
it to my lips
i’m
on pch
downtown
santa monica
by
ocean view hotel
i
slept there once
i
came to on the beach
sun
emerging from the sea
hung-over
so
far from home
got
a room
used
the shower
fell
into the bed
woke
when the night was just right
bar
hopped my way home
till
i finally called a cab
at
a last call
right
now the ocean breeze is cold
and
i’ve called a cab
to
take me to wilshire and fairfax
so
i can walk the miracle mile
l.a.
lingers in the ignorance
of
everyone’s existence
backseat
cab
blood
and semen stains
cabbies
wipe it all clean
at
the end of the night
i
wonder if any of them write
about
all they’ve seen
bukowski
set free
nothing
to write about me
i’m
always in a taxi alone
plugs
in my ears
listening
to AEnema
by
tool
i
was in new york once
long
ago
but
i only saw the disney land
hollywood
walk of fame side of it
i
didn’t play on their
dark
streets of decay
i
was born and raised in this town
but
if you don’t know how
the
echoes sound
you
shouldn’t “drag yourselves
through
negro streets at dawn
looking
for an angry fix" (allen ginsberg – howl)
well,
that’s just my opinion
and
as i always say
truth
is just an opinion
formulas
fractured when forced
into
equations so small
nothing
else can fit
l.a.
county museum of art
i’ll
head to la brea ave
take
it to sunset
or
hollywood blvd
make
a night of it
i
know some people in europe
have
bought my books
i
wonder if they even know
what
i’m talking about
when
i name names
is
an artist defined by the audience?
actually,
i don’t care
just
bought a 375 ml bottle of whiskey
lit
a cigarette
and
i’m walking
in
small towns they dream of l.a. fame
in
the loneliness of los angeles
everyone
dreams of love
ah,
the whiskey
i’m
on sunset
really
wasn’t paying attention
salute
it with my whiskey bottle
sip
no
one notices
not
even the cop car driving by
rain
is coming again
afterwards
car washers will by busy
can’t
have blemishes in los angeles
image
is everything
i
once saw a man lying on his belly
sidewalk,
hollywood blvd
legs
gone below his knees
arms
gone below his elbows
wearing
nothing by shorts
talking
to himself
pushing
around a toy car with his stubs
his
appearance left him vilified
everyone
was horrified
gave
him a wide berth
no
collective conscience conjoining to help
that’s
l.a.
l.a.
has beaches bombarded by photons
filled
with hydrogen atoms and buxom bikinis
but
ugly in l.a. is a mortal sin
this
asian girl i once knew intimately
passes
me
we
recognize
she
sees the bottle in my hand
shakes
her head
keeps
walking
i
take another sip
i
don’t care
though
three nights ago i was seeing double
slept
in an alley
so
tonight i’m sipping slow
don’t
want to lose control
again
pull
out my pocket sized bukowski
open
to where i left of and read
“my
vanishing act”
put
it back in my pocket
just
one poem by charles
satisfies
starting
to fade
turn
off my mind to whiskey unkind
and
call a cab to take me home
***
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