Tujunga in the Plague

When you walk toward the light your shadows follow you.
Hounding you like rabid dogs on a scent.
If you turn and face them you lose the light and the dogs eat you.
I think this while walking down Tujunga Wash, and say out loud
“I was wearing a mask long before the mayor told us to.”
Yeah, back then I told you I couldn’t forgive you, I would never forgive you,
hell would freeze over, unfreeze, and freeze over again before I would forgive you.
But I lied, oh yes I did. I can forgive you. I can.
I will forgive you. I will.
When I have Alzheimer’s. I’ll forgive everyone then. It’ll be easy to.

It’s so empty here, no slow parade, Sunday traffic every day, everything in a coma.
Washing hands and distance, always distance, and it’s not like that’s something new for you.
Or me. Light falls. Night falls. You can barely hear the breathing. Still as that dead cat.

I hear a far off child’s laughter roll out, it stalks the nearly empty streets,
winds around the corner of yet another eat joint closed for the duration.
The laughter twists and turns down side streets and alleyways until it finds the treasure man,
the businessman, who raises up his mighty hand that grabbed up all the land, and he screeches
“Stop that! It’s disgusting!” and the laughing echo limps away.
Let that be a lesson, kid.
Being told to put on masks unmasked us.

There’s warm light in the windows but no warmth, they’re all tombs, glass tombs,
a menagerie of mummies, still moving but just barely.
Binge numbing and wondering what the hell happened, and
wouldn’t a nuclear war have been more exciting?
At least there would have been fireworks and parties.
But the gods racked their brains. They’d done the flood,
thought about doing the fire but couldn’t figure out the lighter,
and then finally said to hell with it. Uncorked the bottle.
Microscopic horsemen of the apocalypse. Not even alive.
The crappy thing is they won’t even get the job done.
We’re a rash the earth can’t cure.


April 11, 2020

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Amnis ia

One last pill and time to kill, she will spy my attempt to die and then move in for the thrill.
My sleep, too steep, will keep the dear fear from coming too near.
The push-pull dance damns the damsel, the slide into suicide is just a glance at the glamor of the games the flames play on the other side.
The train gets off here.
The brain melts in tears.
This nightmare, this dream, streams through steam to find me keen on the beam, ready to fall from the tall knife edge.

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CARRIED AWAY (a poem in 8 tracks)


Don’t know why I heard the water
gently flowing upwardway
entered coldly, and had no one at all to blame
for the extinction of her creatures all about
and way
Gently water upward, fall
Island of water, three hundred and sixty degree Niagara
misted over my eyes, and had no one at all to blame
Hear the dew drop on the wilted tiled floor
and have someone to blame all about
and way
Negative fall, gentle upward, there
my island, flowing softly, a hill where the bird fell
and say
water soft caressing, in fall

The storm is outside, warming gently misted eyes
sleep is easy and had no one at all to blame
for the suffering of desire, where the bird fell
and say
Song soft flowing, upward touch
caress the top of my mind a hundred million times
and have no one at all to blame, to hold
Feel the upward fall, the hill since the bird fell
is mine
and way
Gently water upward, echo

Continue reading

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Boarded. Waiting energies whine.
Dinosaurs happy they died to fuel this.
I’m leaving, I’m leaving, and
If anyone calls my name I
Won’t turn my head, I won’t relent.

Meanwhile somewhere behind
And below me a guilty bolt
Reneges on its duty, and waits
For all to take wing
And to render this massive pterodactyl

Flightless after a few
Seconds of soaring dreams.
Escape plans thwarted a thousand feet
Beyond the runway.
The dinosaurs’ revenge.

And now we, left undisturbed
Will become oil and fuel in
A million years, to power some other
Nasty plan to wing away.
Boarded. Waiting energies whine.

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I didn’t think I’d find myself here
Here at the end with all these years
bearing down
It’s far dirtier and smellier and slower
and dumber and fatter and grayer
than I thought my glorious end would be
Ha ha
says time
you danced
on my dime
now you sink
in my slime

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Night light

A lamp in a window
spills out a pittance of light
pity for those tortured by night
the smug snug inside
with disdain for the ghosts beside
who stalk ignoring all walls
drawn to the flame
to fall always
into the bright tide.

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The meatless men of power are cooking up
grievance for you to breathe
spite for you to drink
rage for you to eat
people for you to blame
undesirables for you to hate
blood for you to spill
enemies for you to kill
a war for you to fight.

-Archer 7/8/18

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Hell has with its persistence bought
all the uncontained rage you wrought
and all the losing battles you fought
to leave you with lessons untaught.

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Aromatic arithmetic
pheromones fill the air
the hunter romeos calculate
move onto the club floor
in search of juliet prey
to be captured by them


-RGA July 25, 2017

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His favorite pastime was throwing up roadblocks to the people who loved him, forcing them continually to redraw their maps to his heart. And when he was dead, all of them led to foreign countries that were nowhere near his secret home.

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