.89

as koreatown
burns to the ground
i stand on the sidelines
listening to the sound
of the people in streets
in sheets with beliefs
and wonder how these creeps
will justify their receipts
maintain their shocked grief
as they say they do
koreatown's on fire
this time it's true

and they hold our lives
in the palms of their hands
sweaty and wrinkled and
made in iran
they've got guns to the right
and murder in their eyes
this is the sound
when elephants cry
take 'em out kobe style
at least we used to
koreatown's on fire
what are you gonna do?

.88

warm up the presses

it's ink and paper

a tender display

of calligraphy

invitations

never to be sent

rubber stamp

the route to freedom

the back-up lights

brake, ebb & flow

the pixels are perfect

but broken

.87 [cokni o'dire]

My man Nick Faigin 

told me not to say nuthin', 

but i gotta get it out

cuz y'know i got somethin'

He said I should write a letter 

then tear it up. 

That sounded like a good idea, 

but it wasn't enough.

.86

they'll be hell to pay

there's documentarians everywhere

you'll tell the truth

with all these cameras and conflicts

i see the outline of time

i see it clearly and often

i produce, i reuse, 

i reach below and above

overgrown - 

a manchild within

a wallet on a chain in a pants pocket

a similar, but simpler mistake

.85

she's a pleasure

a moonbeam

a feast of womankind.

inconsiderate beauty:

she wears it like

a sad jacket bedazzled.

it sparkles

on the fantastical

red carpet.

the superstar within

struggles without 

her heart.

.84

one of them

the misfits

the slimey

the milfs

the slumming

the over

the under

all genius

all artists

not to be disdained

but cherished

celebrated and

brought to the frontlines

and among them

.83

i think it.

i get it.

who am i 

to judge?

i see it-

then i can't.

i'm desperate-

then i'm not.

i whisper-

than i shout.

i'm confused and

i cannot understand.

.82

a bastard of a day

a realization of a wrinkle

an obsession with the truth

a notion of the past

a rancor still within

.81

diesel engine roars

feel it from inside

a slippery clutch

rocketing petrol

drizzily cold

the journey is gray

and every gray journey 

begins this way

butlered into

an old overcoat

pockets filled

with tickets and ink

quickly refreshed with 

purchased breathmints

and a bottle of water 

holstered in tight

i sit with papers

bag and my book

prepared to waste time 

should anxiety cease

still hours til morning

days before destinations

my socks fill with moisture

my adidas - gone lame

.80

i'm california cool and

i'm santa monica mellow

new york's nice and

new york is it

but i'm california calm and 

i'm very venice beach

.79

it's completely improbable-

this sham of a love

gently unfolding

into petals of truth.

.78 [funk]

i'm on-the-one
psych-o-delic
blissed out
in outa-space

i'm dirt behind the ears

scrubbed until i'm bled

dished out and
i'm served cold

i'm colorful
colorless
flavorful and
flawed

i'm friday night fights
i'm saturday jams
i'm family stone and fatbacked

baptized

forgiven

i'm work-a-day-all-week
i'm hustle to pay the rent
i'm in cubicles and meth labs

i'm a stone gas

honey

i'm a party
i'm a heartbreak
i'm a secret 

love affair

i'm sugarcoated

deep-fried

raw and 

famous amos-ed

i'm surrogate soul

parliament

punked

superfly-ed, atomic dog-ed

con-funk-shun

.77

hello photo.

it's something 

in the way 

she poses.

silent still

the world;

chosen–

the best from the roll.

.76 [love]

love
delivers 

the grand punch
of excitement.
that raison d'etre

and nothing less.

love

pants and sighs,

and unrealized,

it doesn't die-

it just lies 

beneath the smiley surface

and flattens

.75

i busted my cherry

at 26 and a day

my sheets were stained

with black ink

to look back now

it's nail guns at sunset

pressurized cannons

with plenty to see

.74

the boredom

daily without thinking

ass sitting

standard

commiserate

with others

who can rationalize pain

who can live without crying

those who can live despite dying

i wouldn't

i couldn't

i shouldn't

if there is fear

i own it

those things i hold dear

i've known it

all the times i've been expected 

to be grown up

put on that smile 

to the world and shown it

the kitchen

the bathmat

dust settled 

on the tabletop

the silent 

Santa Monica

mornings