I had
a dream
that i wrote this song
it was real easy
it wasn't hard at all

There
are many cars
on the freeway
but only one
is being driven by OJ

His white
Ford Bronco
with him at the wheel
did he ever
get in trouble
or just a citation

Cuz I
had this memory
of news helicopters
and him being followed
on the freeway

I was just a little boy

chinatown public library

You were wandering
like most wonderers do
one foot in front of the other
shoe
the other shoe

in shays car

The main difference between New York and L.A. is that there is a big cemetery near Park Slope that my girlfriend and I toured in an old blue Jeep in the summer of 2017 that her friend drove us around in through the cemetery roads and under its old trees like we were on a safari of the dead and around one turn all the buildings in the distance suddenly rose up like large versions of the tombs doing the same in front of them and the buildings appeared like the tombs of the living while the tombs were like the buildings of the dying and where earlier in the day we had had a Lyft driver in a beekeepers mask who told us that apartments were really just storage units for our bodies and our bodies just storage units for our souls and then toward the end of our ride she got real quiet and asked "Do you like sweet chicken?"

old haunts new life

How to tell my girlfriend the night we pulled over to sleep in my car for a few hours on the side of the road on the dirt atop the cliffs of Big Sur but between a guard rail and wedged in by huge safety rocks secure enough under the raining stars and in each other's arms that the way we made love I was welcome to anything the universe wanted to make of us

How our date that night at Esalen was nude in body nude in heart

How to tell her I've never been so blissfully nude with someone and electrified all at once

How to tell her as we make our home over and over every day in a shoebox of an apartment that expands and contracts in size with love and space and all the terribly nice words that leave our mouths in whispers, mock yells, moans, and sing song dream noises halfway between sleep and being wide awake

taco bell kfc hybrid

I'm fascinated by desire paths. Once in while I get reminded of them, they are those paths created by footsteps aside from the paths laid out in public parks, walkways, nature trails and the like. You know the ones. Where the walk path is moving along circuitously but one a natural flowing whim you cut the distance by walking off straight across a nice patch of grass and then maybe eventually back onto the path that's been already laid and maybe not, maybe you just keep going til you discover a moonlit ledge and down below are a bunch of elephant seals barking their love calls into the crashing waves of night

the alamo

My mother taught me the ability to dream, to live inside the insulation of an imagined construct. Aside from the escape, it's worthless in this day and age. This day and yesterday it's felt like something, a core part of a thought I needed has fled. I told my brother something feels like its missing, he said something along the lines of welcome to the club.

Once in awhile I worry I'm still flitting in and out of my mother's fantasies. And when, in, trapped. That I never actually escaped. That my story of myself is a fiction only in my own mind, the one given to me that is, not the one I'm trying to write. My mind, a splintered cell from all the others belonging to the same, a few splits away from the woman whose womb I resided inside of back when she was inside her own mother's womb.

All the way back that far. I was an egg in 1957.

I had a dream a few nights ago that I helped make a baby boy of my own and he had deep dark eyes and faint blonde hair and I held him and I felt warmth wash onto me and I cried saying this is the happiest I've ever been in my life.