spirited 

     on 

    leave 

   your 

    dirty

      worry

           behind 

                    there's no more room

              for all that

      out 

     out 

       out with the 

               Pain

             out with that

                                          feeling in the pit of your stomach

        move on now

leave it on the doorstep

     give it to the mailperson

 drop it off at UPS

         There's no more room for 

that SO FUCKING GET RID OF FUCKING IT

 

 

 Splendid

miraculous 

tourniquet of fire 

My leather padrillas

and remote ice axe

It's a long hike through

dangerous country

if I go high less chance of meeting anyone 

and it's nice up there

The air is clean 

You're on top of the world 

 I caught

the misery cloud

       right before it spit

   a spider web 

    of a thousand screams 

too bad I was just looking 

for my underwear

      get up and make some breakfast

You bitch

  

 I've got a dream

But it involves work

But what else have I got

Nothing

I need a plan

Or maybe I'll just wing it

too much planning ruins everything

 They froze

 

their misguided ways

with popcorn and marijuana

    the potent

reminders of adolescent feelings

     now put in the sack bin

    of adulthood

       the peeling paint

      on an old two story

       suburban home

        the faded smeared hopes

       and dreams of turtles 

    and guinea pigs

      their faces are pinched

   and stretched

        Clothing piles

      in the back bedroom

         an old Chevy in the 

garage

 The furnaces burn

and electricity is churned 

geometric pylons

or dead trees

carry it to wherever its destination is

a blender

a refrigerator 

a blow dryer 

Lights 

Light 

And more lights

    Jacksonville Traction Company

       streetcars and trolleys

         The furnaces burn 

       burn

          burn

              Burn  

  and bum rushed 

toasters are stolen

Sam Shepard reads aloud

about birds

His mind going

   Going 

      going 

         going

 Pivoting

  spittle  

    sided

    broken 

     goat

    ceramic head missing one horn

  Spider 

   creeps 

out 

   and 

   stares

  his 

life 

is 

not 

going 

well

    

 

 

 Stupefied

   syntactic brush

    with cleanliness

    You washed

   and cleaned

         but your stained soul

       would not brighten 

       or shine

Pity

   try again some other time 

Or just fuck it

It is so they say what it is

 

 

 the movement

sr

Stirs Senor

Escuchame 

    up the cobblestone (river rocks) hill

in low gear

   passing the Gaz truck

passing the Agua truck

  passing Don Pedro's Torta shop (no sign or he'd have to pay municipal fees)

   around the corner the girl sisters sit on the sidewalk and make tacos seventy five cents apiece

  Dad lives in a Gringo Gulch villa 

made by Architect Freddie Romero in the sixties

   A couple blocks away Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton have houses across the narrow street from each other. They built a replica Bridge of Sighs between them. 

Dad dated Joanie Blake who was John Huston's secretary. 

Her apartment is done with pink marble columns and framed photos of move stars. 

  Senor Escuchame doesn't care. He has to repair a water heater at Donna Cabrillo's.