Saturday, January 22, 2011


Right outside Los Angeles
it's hot as hell,
and my phone doesn't work-
It's poison - but it tastes
like cotton candy to me.

it's a proverb.
it's a session.
When the whole wide world
goes mad.

She was dressed -
in a tight red skirt
and a striped blouse.
her heels were high,
satin covered
and she smelled of
rich floral perfume.

it's a poem
it's a pageant
it's a monologue
just for you.

Her breasts played peek-a-boo and
reminded me of
inflated balloons and
chocolate bunnies at Easter.
Her round firm ass spoke to me in Spanish.
I told her I didn't understand.
She just laughed.
Her legs were smoothed flesh-
stretched to the max-
covering flexed muscles;
their length -
far beyond the miles I'd walked to get here.

"Slide me that banana." She said.
And then peeled it slowly
reminding me of Warhol's
Velvet Underground art.
She said "I can't stand listening to funk!"
"But I can't stand you even more!"

That's terrible.
Take a last look around.
see what is-
see what ain't-
know the difference &
know the truth.

advice - my vice:
this time around
I ash my stash...
medical and primeval.
this time around
it's chronic, ill and
out of bounds;
the reason that i wrote this song.

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