fourty two42.coffeeshop goddess of stone cold quiet, vacuum eyes. run me your ribcage and overdrawn credit card, youre a saint sans regret, last cigarette gone out between strained lips, stained glass tattooed hands touch in grateful prayer, a solemn air settles as fingers meddle in bright dyed yarn- Jacobs ladder, cats cradle- slide a note across the table, which you disregard, holy. cigarette relit and messy hair unfixed gospel music from the car at the stop and we laugh, hassled by cops for no reason at all and move along, move along, twelve o clock and all is well, circumvent your personal hell because we have hell to pay for our greatness.
culver city23.I wake up early- too early- 6:35, an hour and a half of sleep, wake up and am energized, electrified, blue eyes and fingertips crackling, seeing colors Ive never seen before. Struggling up, pulling the blankets off, my underwear off- theyre too tight- I look for a piece of paper and pencil to write it all down, casting about- its still dark, find one, begin to write phrases, fragments. Im too loud, too hurried, I wake him up, he looks at me in naked fervor and I kneel by him, trying to explain- the dream! The dream! I had the most incredible dream. No time. I cant sleep. Going for a run.The sun is rising in quiet culver city off streets, and Im wandering, the run has quietly and quickly turned to unabashed amazement, alone, no cars, no people, just miles and miles of city sprawl suburbia, but its adorable- truly lovely, all crammed into blocks full of big California sunshine rose blooms and lemon trees and bright painted housefronts, trash on the curb