They say the house ached
with an energy
his chord *****
haunting the A/C hum
colours crawl out
of failed cartoons
in schizotypal terror
dismembered icy blues
that take in everything
through bloodied stems
the retired boxer
******* the umbilical
with his head carved open
to dementia and night terrors

They say the desk-lamp shook
from pill-induced tremors
the anxiety of perfection
never borne out in creation
eternal battles between
pleasure and Satan
between the chorus line
and bouts of sanity
two self-portraits
twin the whitewashed wall
one frail and brilliant
with gaunt fears of hell
the other fat and docile
in the face of death.

Lived the life of an artist
long before I became one.
Pressed to guitar strings
until my fingers were numb
to all exposed skin
that was not my own.

Listened to one thousand sad songs
over and over
until the pointless chords
clamoured over one another,
psalms of living
fall on deaf ears.

Trawled archives of *******.
Lauded aristocrats of cheap whiskey nights
and black coffee mornings.
Garnished my days with addictions carried
by better men
in love with real women.

Grew thin, moved about the apartment
in the graveyard hours
tacking songs to the walls.
In the absence of chains and ***
I fixed myself with neon lights
and cigarettes.

Spilt paint over undeserving paper
beneath the halogen bulb
to colour radio silences
of past friendships,
mountains I should let recede
like a ship in the night.

Stood alone in crowds
to witness the onset of a moment,
openings and closings of mouths and doors;
each one to allow another person in.
I go home alone
and sleep with my thoughts.

Be kind to yourself.
You have come so far.
Each emotion you feel tattooed
to your skin
the seasons wash away like chalk.

Be kind to yourself.
You are braver than you thought.
No longer scared of what lies
beneath your bed
but what awaits when you wake up.

Be kind to yourself.
You are worthy of love.
Only you give permission
for forked tongues
to leave passing words as lasting scars.

Only you can adopt old failures
and stack them as obstacles
upon each new path.
You cannot dictate what will be
only – who you are.

Be kind to yourself.
You are doing enough.
You cannot always be switched on.
Sometimes you have to lay down
and breathe –

it is not greed.
If you are always exhausted
you cannot help anybody.

Be kind to yourself.
You did not grow
from a single cell
born from a dying star
in order to feel so small.

You did not close the door
on friends when you expected
more from them.
Why beat yourself up
for who you were before?

Be kind to yourself.
A faltering dancer who gets up
again and again
draws the loudest applause
at the curtain call.

A person who spent half their life
at war with themselves
knows the value of peace,
the feat of getting out the house;
the measure of good mental health.

Be kind to yourself.
You have come so far.
They say ten thousand hours
is the time it takes
to master an art.

You spent so much longer than that
learning the patterns of your heart.
You can pull at those common threads
that keep you together
even when you are falling apart.

Be kind to yourself.
You are stronger than you thought.
Like Leonard says,
“there’s a crack of light in everything. “
You do not have to be perfect.

You do not have to live in the dark.
Be kind to yourself.
Make sure you get to the end.
Do not worry
how you stumbled at the start.

I barely know much about him,
Just another homeless man
I give my aluminum cans (minus the pop)
"Where's Wallace?"
Got Glad bags full of tin
Look for his shopping carts
If you connect the dots
Within its circumference
You may find him
in the shade
Or sleeping on the lawn
Outside the closed apartment gates
Or between the carnaceria's walls
Alley cat black
A good guy at that...

He's one of many
The growing crew of indigents
Nothing new to city streets
I met the semi permanent fixtures
The regulars that camp out
Here on the boulevard, near the Strip
Know them by name
But barely know who they are
I try not to get that close

Because you know what they say
You feed one pigeon
They all flock at once,
And Hitchcock's horrors are
My own,
Nowadays when it's a luxury
To have a home,
Mine is precarious
We all protect our own,
That's what they say...

Wallace mostly dives alone
In the darkness of night
Or the end of days
When they throw away the food
Rules of expiration dates

With what I give, it's always fresh,
Perishable even for microwaves
Those convenient stores that let him in
But he's burnt most bridges
With his angry mouth
"****** it up" dropping F bombs
Even half asleep
I barely understand him
But I begin to when his wife
Visits the prison of his concrete streets
Brings him the warmth from home
Her petite loyalty bigger than any shame
I notice that she doesn't notice
The looks of blame
From the eyes of disapproving
Bigots and creeps

Wallace becomes someone else
As they sit together
It's more than just being fed
It's an intimate meal.
(there's tenderness I see)

I couldn't come near to understand
How and why he lives
This way, under this desert city's iron sky,
What a fool he is for romancing the night
Collecting minutiae treasure
All with broken worth
A vagabond crusade with the finger to the world,

I can only hope for the best
I have no opinion

But should he decide  
To wake up or realize
Such folly of a life
I say, it's better to grow and get old
Together with his wife

But then again
I barely know much about Wally
Or how the streets are calling

Away untoward
Those nights that're howling
These streets he's prowling
Much ado about

Wally.

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.