18/100

Where the ailanthus grow large

Larger than I have ever seen

In this place I inhabit

Like some poverty dream

Datura are running

as fast as they can

their anthem is stunning

in this forgotten land

we buy our food

nonexistent in fund

lying about ailments

and things we’ve never done

conditioned in this place

its common in this land

to cry out like a child

and then claim to be a man

the roads are hopelessly broken

where dreams do not take flight

playing this serenade

with the people of the night

in the night Datura open,

louder than the train

silent in the darkness

relinquishing us again

the tears for the fallen

that haunt this place so deft

for a world that wastes nothing

for a realm with nothing left

within these cold nights

all that slips away

coyotes carrying on

for the coming of a new day

Under the hunter/still in the hood

Underneath the great hunter

The trains roll by, their horns cutting through the night, like the powerfully-dull whack of a machete

Across the street drug dealers …do their thing.

I hear dogs
whimpering in high pitched squeaks

like nettles stinging my ears
and seem so much like a scarecrow
standing in the yard

Leaning on my shovel, in awe of how many people will buy a pint of hard liquor before noon.

Dumbfounded by the regally blind, that constantly mob past

Unable to see the desert tobacco, for more than anything than a passing glance

The ephedra grows unruly as the nights and days merge

Conflicted within extremes that they will shed integrity

As their skin, leaving a crumpled mass in the skipping sand

Willing to do whatever is necessary

Surviving in this world for another day 

and I am among them
i am afflicted
survivalist,
landing like some windblown seed
from a jungle
exactly like this one
I am glad we have shared in this experience
because I have seen how orchids are as cactus
with innocence obliterated
on those balmy nights
where our flowers bloom
to the sounds of human chaos
offspring are of secondary importance
provided there's enough water
as we travel by night to conserve energy
our skin becoming leathery and worn
as we rub it upon the fabric of this realm
the smell of colitas
the distant crack of gunfire
somewhere in the distance the burros
run around under the stars and the coyotes try to eat them
occasionally you can hear of their victory
like whoop-whoop of some neighbor going to jail
under the flashing lights
the air pollution that lingers
like the ringing of the trains brakes splitting the air.
the hills rise like dark islands out of a never ending sea of lights
somewhere, it is all as it should be

Creeping Shadows

the shadows creep slowly

The road home is long

the bass has all but faded

we loiter to carry on

the letters still wet

plastered upon plastic walls

feeling nothing but prowess

echo a helicopter’s call

this is war

for the art we defend

the consequence of all-

in a life we never lend

it is the song of an alpha

the verse of king

in the shadows of a voice

with words that none ever sing

never backing down

but knowing when to run

in the blue hour of memory

snapping as the recoil of a gun

like the pawns in some game

hidden within this façade

as ants are to men

as men are to god

like some twisted folk hero

some cheap marionette

hiding in plain sight

where we check and then bet

make no mistake in this game

the stakes will run high

the end is always the same

across the river where they lie

the song carries on

silently in the night

with the words of my hands

sitting just out of sight