Reflection/Connections/Resurrections: Themes of One Deceased, 10-11, Los Angeles

Flora/fauna, Saturday sauna, ghosts in Los Feliz with bracelet clad skinless wrists
come clamoring into each haunt, scraping nails in concrete divides, and how similar skies,
make similar wants, promethazine and codeine draughts sink/seep from speakers
to remind callous coat selection. And how this one, once, and now, tied into this one, and once, then, will untie into this one and that. 

Still Tippin’ (July 12, 2011, rain)

.

Power 106 made me powerless
with a cut open face drooping
fast in the sand of your hourglass
that sand we all have
that you’ve handed to each man
little pebbles of yourself
to scrape their socks and scrape their backs
and stubbed toes rarely fall for
rat-traps.
Power 106 pushed my unhinged jaws
back together to wince back my eyes
now wet like you were so long ago
like when you first heard still tippin
and now it plays once again.
It takes grinding to be a king
and I ground out anything you’d want to mean to me
in some sweaty bed-head wood grain gripping ecstasy.
The biggest demands break off in my mouth,
princess cuts all in my brain and candy green eyes
make me lean.
I only smile when I’m cheating death
and isn’t that all the time?
Back then hoes didn’t want me
now I’m hot and bothered and I pull over the car
and turn off Power 106 and wipe my eyes with my shirt
and find my way to a freeway on-ramp driving ninety
still tippin, still on that five nine southie

baby holler at me.

Then, from undersides and undulation, come screaming the marks of Winter and want, holding a fabric loneliness (and if the needle has yet to reach you, trust that it is dipping and diving as fast as it can):

Continue in warmth [this will become comfortable habit and singes without sting]:

Arizona (October 6, 2010, clouds)

.

All the vessels you once fawned
sailed silently towards the South
and how most of them landed landlocked
made you feel left out.

How all the glasses tipped and drawn
were reassembled on the coast
planting palm trees and pea coats
in fields felt comatose.

And all the blondes once felt mysterious
tapping toes and hanging heads
in the crowds of glistening bars and yards
were too real in beaded beds.