Sunday, December 27, 2009

The Red Velvet Cake Review

At Angel's.

A supper club on the west side.
I do a regular poetry thing here on Sunday nights as part of The Red Velvet Cake Review. The RVCR is Kavion Griffith's nu-lounge act which features Walter Davis on sax. Tonight Alex was on piano. The drummer was named Cal.

Sunday, December 20, 2009

The Red Velvet Cake Review 2

Been performing as part of The Red Velvet Cake Review. The Kavion Griffith production features myself, Walter Davis on sax and a few other musicians and friends.

Alexander Burke on the vibraphone and piano, alternating drummers Cal and Matt, and most recently Mela Lee - a brilliant vocalist who sings with the serenity and cool of a Frank Sinatra. Mela, Matt and Alex are in Magnolia Memoir, a jazz-rock hybrid, more Rickie Lee Jones than Pat Benatar, but they mostly remind me of Swan's Way. An obscure reference, but check out their song "Soul Train"(a couple of versions below). For documentaion purposes, I would like to add that Marcas Johnson has played the piano as part of the review.

This is every Sunday at Angel's which is on Wilshire and 25th in Santa Monica.
Showtime is an early 7 pm.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009


i'm that 40 something fly white guy
who dreamed to big and got too high
been lied too many times my size
john-holmes implosion, me capsized

i'm not stumbling around - but i'm not too far
never been busted or d.u.i. in the car
somewhat copasetic till the lightnin comes
my brain is opposable - just like my thumbs

i'm phat like dat
i'm ill like dat
i kill like dat
i'm white like dat

the voices in my head are pretty benign
they keep me up at night - but they help me write rhymes
there's pills and cures and ailments alike
you'll find me in the ward with the door that says "PSYCH"

and that's it right now, they'll be more later
the harder it gets the more it seems greater
acceptance and tolerance and working and tools
are the implements i seek and the things i don't use

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

The Floor [18]

Pix from The Floor (#18) at The King-King in Hollywood.

Me "poet-ing" (photo:by Mallory Bradley)
With singer J. Karen
With J. Karen and music director Walter Davis
With producer K.G. Superstar
Caught in a moment of pathos.
With dancers Kimberly Green and Vakisha Coleman.

Friday, December 4, 2009


You're insignificant
and I hate you.

What you say,
and what you do
makes me realize
there's no god in the sky
and no pleasure on earth.

I did nothing.
I went nowhere.
The climb uphill
was full of terror and
hunger pangs and
roasted ego (ala king).

I am angry and ashamed and
You have every reason to ignore me.
I don't provide comfort or security.

If that's what you're seeking,
Rely on your parents.
Rely on your boyfriend.
Rely on yourself.

I will die alone.
And no one will care.
No one will notice.
No one will think twice.

Yet you're insignificant
and I hate you.

Thursday, December 3, 2009


You pop up in my life
Like a shadow
And dissapear
Into the dark
Without warning
Leaving me
To walk the streets alone

The dreams I sought
To live out
With you
Have become dark gray-
Mutating the beautiful colors
Of autumn
Into nightmarish
Consequential reality

I wish I never met you
The weight of my memories
The time spent together
Is ancient history
To get and keep you
Is an impossibility
Which I still cling to

To know you only slightly better
Than the rest of the population
Is my personal tragedy.
The locked doors of perception
Simply torture me now
Stirring up feelings
Of inadequacy-
suffering at the feet
of extreme beauty


With your provisions-
red velvet pastry
tight against my face
I see the sugared filling and
inhale the coco layers.

You fed it to me -
I could taste the metal
feel it taste back,
and hear the muted *ting*
as it knelt on the lip

I delivered both
the myth of permanence and
the shine of the sun.

You were the whitest snow I'd ever seen,
with the blackest heart on
God's green earth.

I thought you were a treasure,
And just maybe you are.
I didn't want to find you cuz
I knew I couldn't fund you

The encounter
An obsession
You took over
My mind

Submitted - perpetuated madly
Co-workers, friends and
family twisted into the drama.
My odyssey.
My search for real love.

Trying to break free
From the bonds of you -
A real beauty but
I don't know how you learned
to treat me like you did.

The sickness still makes me wonder:
What would have happened
if we were together?


And covered w snow.
And moderate
Hot under the collar
"it's too loud in this joint"
He cursed to no one In particular
From the depths of my eardrums
To the bottom of my soul
And he was right.

Almost too tender to touch
the swollen part of her.
Barely moving.
Hardly stirring.
The exhale is all I desire to hear
Don't ever stop.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Hey! Pocky Way

with Leo Nocentelli of The Meters 11/14/09

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

The Floor 16

with Kimberly Green
with K.G. Superstar
with Guy Cohen and Dorthea Porter

Sunday, October 11, 2009


the ambivalence
is measured out
like jiggered

I rot
from the nearby sea
like brown
and red driftwood

where when the sand embraces
and the salt mist surrounds
it's a
perfect day

Without thoughts of
recourse or counterpoint,
Without screed or creed
I stumbled cross
The parched pavement-
where once green things grew,
but now are paper maiche'd and
stuck together with clumps of re-melted wax

Looking, a glance,
I continue to hurt
where the top and bottom
get cut up and off and

sliced through
like a thoroughbred's ligaments
when they're
lame and useless.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

.142 [esperanza]

it's been days and
she's barely crossed my mind.
food is returning to the tastes
i recognize and enjoy.
maple, fennel, creme de menthe...
the milk in my coffee no longer clouds up in effigy to her.
i've started to enjoy real jazz...
enjoy the sound of live music —
enjoy the company of live musicians

not a woman -
not flesh and blood -
a coded word.
a complex concept.
making the
simple ritual of beauty
like the myth of permanence or
the shine on the sun

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

The Floor 15

with Walter (on the right) & Fuzzbee
Black and White stills from a video shot by Bjorn Fleuren

with Carolina

Saturday, September 19, 2009


you cut me open
with a heavy serrated
scooped out
my testicles,
and made
a sandwich
with 'em,
which you ate
while casually
shooting me through
with your
poison gun

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

.140 [my space]

it feels like a ghost town.
like a ghost world.
there's still a lot of stuff —
more stuff everyday
but its different.
it's muted.
it just doesn't matter.

Monday, September 7, 2009


what happened to your eyes?
what happened to your smile?
what happened to your wickedness?
and what will happen now?

people change,

you're looking older now
not more mature -
but jaded.
your eyes - they're dark and hard and small and tight.

the curl
of your lips
seems shallow
and sterile.

your smile -
that's changed too.
the angle of your cheekbones
it's different now somehow

you're still beautiful to me.
same as it ever was...
maybe you're happy
but it doesn't look that way

Tuesday, August 18, 2009


even though
you drink too much
and smoke too much
doesn't mean
i don't think too much
of you.


crazy in love-
humbled by you,
your surprising linguistic prowess and
cut to-the-waist lovelocks,
i swallow hard.

swallowing hard
second nature
when the right cocktail

Monday, August 17, 2009


i've looked into the eyes of beauty.
i've seen it and all that it beholds.
i liked it - no i loved it,
but i got nothing done.

now i'm faced with choices.
from which bough do i bow?
i've seen it - no i want it.
i express it- now i wait.

Sunday, August 9, 2009


your lips curl up & purse
like tasting sour sauce
when my name
comes up in
casual conversation.

there is something so wrong
about becoming a quitter -
another -
when everything is pure gold -
withered and survived.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

.134 (loneliness)

it's not the heaviness
the outsiderness
the within you without-ness or
the bareness of witness

it's not the artificialness
it's not the darkness
it's not the shallowness or 
it's purposefulness 

not the perfectness nor
the purpleness
not the wildness 
not the wilderness

not the 'let me be freeness'
the here-ness and nowness
the 'thing must be rareness'
only my carelessness


Saturday, August 1, 2009

.133 (pt. 1 of 2)

my mind goes
a million miles a minute;
races around -
the myriad of tasks i
must attend to.

every forward jut,
every lay down and wait,
every dollar,
bumps you up in my mind;
light switching-
hair pulled back
away from your face.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

.132 (pt. 2 of 2)

bright, like the vatican
in a summer vacation rise,
you startle with your
rare diamond splendor.

as the rings of saturn tighten,
i have a hunch what is,
isn't going to
stay static.


i dreamt that i was sick
when i woke up
i was well

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

The Floor 13

Reading at The Floor at King King in Hollywood.
On the mic with singer Dorthea Porter and backed by Walter Davis and the brotherhood of The Floor house band
With Dorthea, dueting on "i see the pain of practice...",
Dorthea trading verses with me.
(Thank you Dorthea!)

Saturday, July 18, 2009


the newspaper held page
after page of 
violent info,
head busting horror
and furniture ads.

weekend specials
and budget cuts.

and in the back
a 1" x 1" ad.

for caskets.



those tri-colored 
neutron bombs
give way
i can smell bupropion
from 100 paces
i can't stop chewing on
the inside of my mouth


a modern day
using 4 wheeled muscle
to shield steel
from musing
over the side

Friday, July 10, 2009

.127/work in progress

it wasn't just about her looks.

she was intriguing.
she was foreign.
and she seemed like someone i could spend the rest of my life getting to know.
i knew i would never tire of her beauty.

she made me quite nervous.
it always felt perilous.
i always tumbled or fumbled
when she was around.

she made me laugh.
i made her sit up 
and take notice.
i was more charming (than psycho).

"you'll have to work hard for this"
she coo-ed,
motioning down her torso 
with perfect hands.

she thought i was a sucker; 
that i was incapable;
but i took her declaration 
to heart.

the next time i saw her
i had a real job.
i quit doing and dealing.
i ran every day.
i also came back.
i reconciled with my family and 
let go of my anger towards my ex-wives.
i read more and watched tv less.
i became a better listener.
i was being recognized.
i started to succeed.

she was impressed-
so she said.
unafraid - 
i moved forward.

i texted and emailed and called.
i spent too much time thinking about her
and buying her things:
volumes of art and
little blue boxes from tiffany's - 
pure french perfume;
and scandalous items 
via agent provocateur.

i crafted mixes of 
music to swoon by:
marvin gaye and al green. 
roberta flack and donny hathaway.
chet baker and nina simone.

i felt like i was in high school.

i gift-wrapped everything myself-
tight like a hug -
and lovingly -
like a home cooked meal on a Sunday,
instead of family and warmth and 
3 kinds of potatoes - 
ribbons and silk flowers and
hand-painted cards on expensive stock.

all this got me was ripe for failure.

she told me
she could 
never be with me.
afraid of what the answer was,
i didn't ask why.
she offered up
'i'm not attracted to you.'
without thinking, i replied
'you don't even know me.'
after that - i couldn't recover.

she beckoned for a ride to the airport. 
my heart was brick and crumbling
and too heavy to do more for her than i had already done; 
she accepted my emphatic 'no' 
but i actually heard her smirk 
through the phone.

as the departure date loomed near,
my caller i.d. once more
displayed the word utsøkt and 
a photo taken of black lace panties up her skirt.

a cruel and persuasive series
of communiques ensued.
the next day i drove her to the airport.
that was the last time i saw her.

she knew 
when to quit.
i was nothing to her.
just a fan-
trying to get 
to their idol.

as obsessed as i was.
i was becoming more psycho 
(than charming).
that had to cease.
i asked for her help.
but that went unanswered.

my dissatisfaction - 
the end came too soon.
what if i had succeeded
and won her heart?
what would i have won?
makes me wonder.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009


hell yes!
it really gets in the way!
when i'm trying to get stuff done
oh shit! here it comes.

when i'm on the phone
or on my way
it can do me in -
in a heartbeat

a finger snap
is all between
the madness and 
the sanity

it's concrete 
out here!
it's madness 
out here!

it's sarcasm and gossip
and ill will
and unintentional 
fuck-ups out here!

it's slow leaking 
fumes and exposed 
electrical wiring
out here.

it's everything 
you're not
out here...

i'm out here.

Sunday, July 5, 2009


how do you find the time,
the patience
the wherewithal,
to plot and
scheme and
and wait.

it's alone 
that i
crest best;
but how alone
can this
man be?


rolling on fresh asphalt,
the choices of signature being-
seeming like an expansive
black ocean-
and become hateful and heat seeking.

painting yellow cresting-
4 under inflated tires,
a handful of change,
and a hard wet
scarring journey.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Don Was

with Don Was at Harvelle's 6/29/09

Friday, June 19, 2009


that thing
has got a hold of me
yet i look
the same

that thing
is tightening it's grip
the mirror
sometimes lies

Sunday, June 14, 2009


supine and out-of-love
wall surfing
stiff willed and
and turbulent

chopped down
by infinite fidel,
curled up fetally
puling like a baby

my brain gushes
hot buttered soul
supplanting the gorge while
spitting exorcised truth

gunk-ing the system,
wadding the nasal fossa
killing the flow and
everything in it's path

unpleasantly adapting
to my inner eyelids,
forcing my veins up and out,
pushing it's way through the murk

the moisture massaging
my tympanic membrane
passes thick through with
light white sputtering steam.


fearlessly i chose
at first to flutter
rather than simply
fly away

when that didn't
succeed i tried
a more direct 

with shallow eyes that blind
time once again turns me into
gelatinous residue
clinging precariously to the rim

the demure sods
reject me
roundly and unanimously 

Saturday, June 6, 2009


the failed muscle of creativity
the disappointment of romantic love
the pain of practice
the uncertain present

the words choke me
the cards protect me
the security will save me
the future will want me

Tuesday, June 2, 2009


our first kiss-
utilitarian for you;
i thought you'd
turn me into a prince.

desireable pink
stretch wrapped 
in black ice.

back rounded - 
giggled, jiggled 
perched and
given freely.

you're smiling
like pastry -
desert worth
waiting for - 
vanilla creamed
and addictive.

Monday, June 1, 2009


there's nothing like getting drunk on a monday.
getting drunk,
and spinning around and around
in someone's arms.

it had been hot.
ridiculously hot.
meetings all day.
she was still dressed from work.

she was a malibu blonde, born and bred.
he looked like a music biz promo guy from the mid-70s -
hirsute - bearded; brunette and feathered.
they were sore from fucking.

on a cocaine-fueled tear across the Southland they happened across a blues bar.

tired and wasted,
his crumpled too-tight jeans
were weighted down by 
dirt and moisture from poolside sex and sweat.

blouse & jacket removed - she was stripped down to a soap scented white tank-t loosely tucked in to her business casual.

into each other -
they are suddenly
interrupted by Sir Harry -
a handsome baritone and a helluva dancer - 
leaping off the stage
as he spins a voluptuous pro
expertly across the black and white checkerboard
of the dance floor.

tonight i'm here. 
for a reason.
i need to hear the music -
feel the blues sift thru me 
like fire-y white stars telescoped.
blinding, speechlessly swaying steady.
my heart is heavy.

under a lotus - flushed and reddened -
i'm vulnerable and
impossible to know.

Thursday, May 28, 2009


its great to be alive in America today.
its great to celebrate and dance
like we mean it.
wherever you are
if you can hear me reading these words,
you are experiencing freedom.
freedom to say fuck and suck
and blowjob and tits and faggot.
freedom to spell come "c-u-m"
freedom to paint pretty pussies on wild caucasian beings
void of depth or meaning;
not quite art for art's sake-
but benign and ripe from the start.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009


bouncing beats kick BIG
like gang stars ain't
descending on Brooklyn.

hypnotic long islands
put logic aside and speak like drug dealing rap legends
rhyme nigga. 

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

The Floor 11

Bjorn took this one, but I had just got the camera and had no idea how it worked and handed it off to him while he was playing bass. I think he captured the moment nicely. Thanks Bjorn!

Friday, May 15, 2009

.114 [4th St]

the lights are brighter.
the trees shift luminescence
from pale to bright,
spanning a spectrum
of reddish-hued pinks and
cannon grays and
greens - the shade of money.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

.113 [work place]

it was a disgusting kind of grind.
a real shit-hole.
lousy benefits.
the kind of place that
makes me wanna
wriggle out of my skin and
on to the mushroom colored carpet,
coffee stained and trampled.

Sunday, May 10, 2009


birds flying high -
you know how i feel...
sun in the sky -
you know how i feel...
reeds driftin' on by -
you know how i feel...

i see the pain of practice.
the unescapable slither
of argentine sheen.
two legs - muscled molasses;
the arch of the lower back-
as round and pure as the day
you were born.
as liquid as the day
you discovered the
rond-de-jambe en l'air.

i've seen you
a million different times
in a million different languages.
i've grown accustomed
to your steps,
your gait and your gaze
your locks and your limbs.
the rings of saturn
couldn't be any brighter,
or a bigger mystery to me.

it's a new dawn...
it's a new day...
it's a new life for me...
and i'm feelin' good...

"i love her!!"

a man yells out!
aghast at my own brashness,
i feel the glare of the crowd,
hear the scattered laughter,
see the smirking faces-
faces of longing-
a face i will never wear again...

now that I have seen her dance.

Thursday, April 30, 2009


there's an incredible rush of lost breath;
squeezed... constricted... 
as our lungs push against each other
compressing the muscle one more time.

to each other,
we are green kryptonite 
with an impossible 
language barrier.

your inability to 
i might be what you need
is ineffectual.

i let the day's float by
and ignore the incredible obviousness.
but it won't go away and
you say you see nothing.

i am not obsessed with you.
YOU are obsessed with me,
and you have to 
let me go.

you are here for me
but you refuse to believe.
you're stubborn and short sighted
and i want to go home.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

The Floor 10

photos by David O. @ The Floor - Hollywood, CA 4/27/09

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Bongo Fury @ Harvelle's

photos by J. Ryan taken at Harvelle's April 21 2009
Bongo Fury band led by Walter Davis
with Victor Orlando, Bjorn Fleuren, Asa Watkins

Wednesday, April 8, 2009


Junior Walker, Boris Pasternak
and a skeleton 
walk into a bar in Paris.

Junior Walker orders
a Makers Mark
and a cone of pomme frites.

Boris Pasternak orders
a Long Island Ice Tea
and insists on a bowl of cream for his pet kitten Siao-Pow.

The skeleton orders a draft beer
and a mop.

Friday, March 27, 2009


you did what little girls do
play games then withdraw
crush a lot and give nothing
drop out of sight and react

i find it appealing
no scratch that - appalling
i'm offended - quite rightly
i'm not often nonplussed

Thursday, March 26, 2009


you squander your beauty
on that lump of a man.
i won't waste the words
on that malleable brute.

you don't speak the same language
he's beneath you - (you like that) - 
he's wildly stupid
his nose is wide open

Tuesday, March 24, 2009


i play to that side of her-
the sexless ways of a whore-
she can only 
gauge my sincerity

she's just a tree to climb
i'm a monkey man
strumming a simple style
on electric guitar

Wednesday, March 18, 2009


the dirt 
beneath my feet 
is death
i trod upon it

Friday, February 27, 2009


your promethian smile
spread cross
mountain ranges
many rivers
knowing I 
could care
for your reckless 
shallow self.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

.104 [part 2]

part 2 is continuation
a hard crush against
the rocks
sandwiched foam waves
and hardened earth
beneath waffled 
foot stomps
of untouched pebbled runway

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

.103 [love]

the unbelievable 
ardor of your
lying thieving self
winds around the word
like snakes
twine-ing around
each other
like snakes
becoming 3D and real

Sunday, February 22, 2009



The vast vast symmetry
of your polygonal nature
rises me up

with illusions rampant,
in my guts
the withins 
resemble the withouts

coupled through tremulous times
our pasts, having convened, 
now separate
and I stand at a cross road divine.

steadfast for days
hunting the elusive blue rhino
night by night
and standing ahead, fore and aft

i spring - not eternal -
but rapturously, hideously
and humanely;
the way i was put here for.

Thursday, February 19, 2009


i miss debunking your lies
and ridiculing your plagiarism
i miss exposing your hypocrisy
and watching your face
tell me to go away

Tuesday, February 17, 2009


yes, i try to laugh
to smile 
to think
but the memories of you 
just run through my mind
i wouldn't call it depression
and it's not melancholy
but words of wisdom surround
and then knock on my door

the surreal affection 
i feel for the missing
the painful eruption
when all's said and done
i wouldn't trade a huge fortune
for the fortune is just you
the play's the whole thing
and not one minute more

whence upon that pure morning
when all is surreptitious
surrounded and hounded by those that we love
they're all so attendant
they're faithfully giving
but the meaning is empty
with these holes in the floor

and i'm not that different
even though i try to be
but it's not love you're seeking
you're seeking nothing for sure
and all the sandtraps in hades
wouldn't sink me this deep
into darkness and chaos
unable to go on

there is something
worth learning
although nothing's for certain
maybe not soon - maybe never again
there's one way to feel 
and thats open your heart up
you can't know where that leads you
or even for sure

all the love gets congested
there's buzzcocks in heaven
and music and people are just that - and again
the flowers
the quarries
the righteous
the losers
a few minutes together 
and then we are done

Sunday, February 15, 2009


like a rainbow, you please so many.
give joy and comfort and hope a home.
when you're gone - it's too soon
tho you're always remembered,
and with foresight recorded,
watched and re-wound
for use in those times 
when i just can't escape
and your love is needed —
like every minute 
of every single day

Saturday, February 14, 2009


The saddest Valentine's Day 
is broke, deafening 
and apart from anyone 
offering love.

It's not cut abs
or baskets of sweets.
It's not smiling, winking 
or making plans for the future.

It weeps
and so 
do I 

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

.97 [ezra]

to reverse the ocean's blue roar
to be where no one else has been
to be in the eye of the storm
and not even know

to carry on is the challenge
to accept it is to let go
and that will simply
never happen

Monday, January 26, 2009


Will you surprise me
and tell me what i want to hear
Are you gonna wait for ever
to admit that you love me?

Will you nurture my soul
instead of messing around
Are you gonna wait for ever
to admit that you love me?

Will you give up the struggle
and get on with the fight
Are you gonna wait for ever
to admit that you love me?

Will you give me what i want
Will you accept it's what you need
Are you gonna wait for ever
to admit that you love me?

Wednesday, January 21, 2009


i see you sitting.
i feel you breathe.
i want to know
but simply can't.

you are a ghost.
a history
of unsavored flavor.
i want to taste again.

Tuesday, January 6, 2009


when i act strange - 
the way that i do
it's mostly just
because of you

i wish i was cool
i try to stay down
but i stutter and shake
when you are around

i am ernest, sincere
perplexed and confused
i want to be seen
and i want to see you

Thursday, January 1, 2009


harp squeaks
squall the return 
of a new year 

thin lightning 
from smokestacks,
feather flotilla and
belch cold nostalgia

my temporal logic
defines me 
in my 
greatest hour of need