I say to my woman, "Jeffers was
a great poet. think of a title
like Be Angry At The Sun. don't you
realize how great that is?

"you like that negative stuff." she
says

"positively," I agree, finishing my
drink and pouring another.
"in one of Jeffers' poems, not the sun poem,
this woman ***** a stallion because her
husband is such a gross spirit. and it's
believable. then the husband goes out
to **** the stallion and the stallion
kills him."

"I never heard of Jeffers," she
says.

"you never heard of Big Sur? Jeffers
made Big Sur famous just like D. H. Lawrence
made Taos famous. when a
great writer writes about where he
lives the mob comes in and takes
over."

"well you write about San Pedro," she
says.

"yeah," I say, "and have you read the
papers lately? they are going to construct
a marina here, one of the largest in the
world, millions and billions of dollars,
there is going to be a huge shopping
center, yachts and condominiums every-
where!"

"and to think," my woman says smiling, "that you've only
lived here for three years!"

"I still think," I say,
changing the subject,
"you ought to read Jeffers."

Concrete walls
Solid foundations
High-rises
Rarefied air
Epic elevations
Cornered lives
Distant views
Modern amenities
Unaware neighbors
Plush condominiums
Soft beds
Weary eyes
Deprived of sleep
Lonely hearts
Sleeping pills
Soothes nerves
No dreams
Only hallucinations
Constant fear
Of going down
Alien grounds
Will reclaim

The moon hangs half cocked
Between the condominiums
Swallowed half in shadow
It still gasps for air
With its dead lips out to space.

Went 0/4 tonight and still was a star. Sequins are the new legitimacy. Fingers, the new lies.

uncle harley-

i don't even know where you are right now.
you don't even know the person i am right now.
but i miss you, because you lit up my childhood.
i remember your jeep, and getting stuck in the mud.
all those hills are covered in condominiums now.
i remember my sister sitting on your shoulders,
patting your head over and over.

but that was a long time ago.
hell, you might not even be bald now.
you might not even have a motorcycle anymore.
but, you know, you'll always be uncle harley.
you should stop by and visit.
i think you'd be proud of who i've become.

I used to always wonder how people lived in New York City.
Where were the homes?
When I was younger I used to picture these rural houses with beautiful green grass and a lovely wrap around pine wood porch adjacent to the Empire State Building. Then I grew up and realized apartments existed, I realized neighborhoods in the Bronx, Brooklyn, and Queens existed and were places where suburban homes and condominiums were.
I realized that not all homes were made with grass and wrap around porches.
Some homes were on the fourth floor of an apartment complex with a musty smell and a view of a graffitied wall in the ghetto.
I realized that sometimes these places felt more like home than any home in a small rural town with a smoke puffing chimney and windmill could ever feel.

Casually quantifying clerical errors
counting sarcasm and collecting compliments,
but casting them aside
until they're stacked higher than the
introductions that were denied.

She swallows condominiums and Ikea catalogues  
and eyelash extensions.
She swallows the Kardashians
and decrepit Tinder dates.
She swallows her opinion that out-shined and outsmarted his.
She swallows the chronicles of night time strolls that turned sour.

She steps into the shower.
Her mind is full, but her belly is empty.
Although it's swollen with expectation and incessant inquiry,
her ribs protrude as if to command her attention,

And to confirm her intention to rise again.

In Florida the ground doesn't rise to meet the sky
no cliffs overlook the sea
barely a change in landscape
except the burial grounds paved over
to make room for the cemeteries
of those who come here to
pass.

Flat as a plain,
hurricanes can rip apart
homes and condominiums
and steal the sand
pumped on the beaches to keep them
white as bone.
washing away our filth
spreading red tide.

but during the summer,
when you can
forget all of this,
our clouds billow up
thousands of miles high
lightning their crown and thunder
their trumpets
heralding a sudden downpour.

we get a new mountain everyday. shifting
into new forms of heaven
wild
unbound by property legislation
separate from silent segregation of these
southern cities.
un-phased by the shutters on the windows
of the beach homes
owned by those who visit in passing,
when convenient.

a glimpse of these peaks
sends me a smile
driving into downtown
no matter how weary

here's a secret locals know
sunsets are more beautiful
when you look away
from the horizon.
(the only western water sunset
on the east coast!- only $200 a night!)

at the colors cascading
through the
endless bounds of
the clouds.

the reflection of tangerine sunset on the rainy road and the wide expanse of kansas is the pretty i want to be.

the mystery soaking in the wound.
some sun-tanned lady with a ballgown.
a rose bush absent of the thorns.

the burial sight of an isolated victim.
an unspoken but understood shadow.
the willow tree’s branches after a nightly frost.

the strange white light before death.
the neatly tidied vanity.
a polite aftershock after a raging earthquake.

the sandals,
the beachside condominiums,
the skyline with white stripes.

my amiability
surging through the atmosphere,
singing for salvation.

Nemesis canons and barbituate brothels
Untie shoe strings attached to leaping
Cords of wisdom atop strategy missionaries
On futile position. UPS and Kinkos are
Resolved to let bygones be bygones.
Confetti charades of prophylactic
Judaism and Christianity today
Decides to abort chauvinism in the
Decline of western civilization and
Philanthropy medicine withdrawals
Are being passed under the table
Again.
Bearing witness to the shopaholic
Carnage of lesbian africanized
Civil rights movements currently
Revolves around Fleischmans
Condominiums for affirmative
Recipient colleagues, recidivism
Rate parenting methods for