Magical dancing rays
Playing across boulevards
And alighting upon porches
Sprinklers sputtering forth misty sprays
Wet lawns breathing sighs of relief
From the smoggy squalor of the day
Retiring behind grids of chainlink and iron
Golfers strolling patched concrete fairways
Intermittent, hypnotic, thunderous droning
Once again descending from above
Into the hushed consciousness of dusk
Orange orb rolling west past South Central
Friday, March 9, 2007
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
"Street Life"--a poem
Every time I go and look inside
Some cranny of this urban blight
I find them there...
...Cracked up, insane, fizz on a brain
Sinners in the hands of angry gods
Disposed and deposed
Nagging symptoms of the cancer we refuse to acknowledge
“Get out of the street or I’ll arrest you!”
The Law spoke and I listened with guilty-glee
It doesn’t matter that he’s my brother, she’s a mother
None of us are angels in this city
Some cranny of this urban blight
I find them there...
...Cracked up, insane, fizz on a brain
Sinners in the hands of angry gods
Disposed and deposed
Nagging symptoms of the cancer we refuse to acknowledge
“Get out of the street or I’ll arrest you!”
The Law spoke and I listened with guilty-glee
It doesn’t matter that he’s my brother, she’s a mother
None of us are angels in this city
My Licuado Fix (aka Freedom, part deux)
After completing a mound of paperwork, I decide it is about time for a licuado so I begin makng my way towards the neighborhood panderia on Maple and Adams.
Along the way, I always pass by this abandoned, decrepit house on the corner of 29th and Maple. There are all kinds of mattresses and old couches in the yard; it has become the “homeless home.” Without fail there are several men congregating in the yard. The strong stench of beer wafts my way as I walk on past.
“Where do they sleep when it rains?” I wonder. The doors and windows are boarded up so they can’t possibly sleep inside the house. I shoot a closer glance out of the corner of my eye as I walk on past, invisible, when I notice some kicked out crawl spaces. "They don’t sleep in the house when it rains, they sleep under the house!“ runs my epiphineal inner dialogue. This is no life to live, is it?” I continue conversing with myself. But then I consider the stray dogs. Could these men be experiencing true freedom? Maybe I’ve sold my freedom in exchange for security? Now I’m locked into the confinements of a 9-to-5 routine while they can do whatever they want, whenever they want! I try to consider this for at least a moment.“...Nah, forget that.”
Their malodorous mutterings slowly fade as I proceed to shuffle forward towards my daily fix: a strawberry-banana licuado.
Along the way, I always pass by this abandoned, decrepit house on the corner of 29th and Maple. There are all kinds of mattresses and old couches in the yard; it has become the “homeless home.” Without fail there are several men congregating in the yard. The strong stench of beer wafts my way as I walk on past.
“Where do they sleep when it rains?” I wonder. The doors and windows are boarded up so they can’t possibly sleep inside the house. I shoot a closer glance out of the corner of my eye as I walk on past, invisible, when I notice some kicked out crawl spaces. "They don’t sleep in the house when it rains, they sleep under the house!“ runs my epiphineal inner dialogue. This is no life to live, is it?” I continue conversing with myself. But then I consider the stray dogs. Could these men be experiencing true freedom? Maybe I’ve sold my freedom in exchange for security? Now I’m locked into the confinements of a 9-to-5 routine while they can do whatever they want, whenever they want! I try to consider this for at least a moment.“...Nah, forget that.”
Their malodorous mutterings slowly fade as I proceed to shuffle forward towards my daily fix: a strawberry-banana licuado.
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