domingo, 12 de agosto de 2012

Moons in the windshield

a deep silver road lost
and trembling
under the half-asleep rain

mercurial drops running through
numb love notes written in the backseats of used up korean cars
fake leather
fake cigarettes
never ending rivers
to the santa ana boulevard
shut up and count the shooting stars

a sticky summer goodbye
in jane mansfield’s barbwire eyelids
letters too close to each other in a white envelope
forgotten sender
a deadly curve over the pacific
red headlights
as ink stains in the horizon

a frozen moon in the windshield
sad mosquitoes looking for a mate
in the crispy chicken meat noon
indulging in my veins
and i can tell you've started smoking my brand

a red dress at the driver’s seat
falling like a rose petal in a dirty pond
mrs. dietrichson you are as beautiful as a dagger
inside these waters of la joya

beiderbecke’s blues all around my head
and a barbados skin
a woman in it
should i say a ghost
that comes and goes as it pleases
smoke coming in and out of the engines of the night
from deep beneath the fire and the lust


it’s too hot
jelly roll
and the trip is too short
my arm is half outside
come in
hurry up
he only comes up on the weekends

a small waitress with beautiful black eyes
and short dark hair
and  the sun is setting gently at venice
through a dark mirrored window
and a brooklyn girl in my arm

genetically modified green grass that smells like plastic
and hurts
and makes your neck itch
inside the velvet room
where a body
another body
sweats and breathes
and pushes her nails all the way
in your vanity skin
some dogs bark on the outside
and a body falls down the montecito heights
such a nice island

people getting pregnant
at la brea
and the dream of a morning
with long gum-like palms
flying up in the air like
reflections of flying giacometti figures

the dense wind between the finger leaves
at the santa monica pier

a marlene dietrich song in a small can of tuna
reverberating a mellow train
lost feathers of a pink boa
tom waits in the laundromat
talking to a fish
fortune tellers
small bugs sleeping gently in their forgetting machines

and i know you are nice
and you love me
but your words sound like
broken watches
and roller coaster reveries
in a dive bar with oxes and armadillos
and aluminum spoons


the shivering halo
melting under a black blahnik high heel
you have never seen
walking through the corn fields

bits of dust
descending from the santa monica freeway

a painted wall with a blue tide
and a dirty mouth

 a motion less swimming pool

lynch’s white hair in a black cadillac limousine


judas priest’s roll of tens

the cohen brothers playing darts
thinking about robbing banks
dressed up as emmanuelle seigner
and edward g robinson

crystal meth corridors
enlighten by the breath of the delicate orchids
in which you can just give up and die

hot tattoo parlors inhabited by the likes
of hunter, parrots and goose-like rappers
cold grapes in the fridge
in the top of cocaine fueled lips
i'm fine, let's ride
these chimera thighs
they are so inviting

white dots shirts
a very expensive hotel room at the chateau marmont
nothing but a golden lamp
in an abandoned insurance company
and some silk dresses hanging from the ceiling
a phantom kiss in the inside of the wrist
in the envisage sunset strip loneliness

a maze morning the color of a chivas regal bottle
when it breaks
a stomach ache that contorts your face
while you buy sugar

a sun burn
a slow burn
a beach bum
two sizes too small
for that huge quantity of acid
while “the water runs down his chin and drips”
a melancholy bash


i prefer getting lost in the alleys
a white cat shaped  like an ice cream
voices from the desert
and a middle aged woman
looking for a ride to bunker hill
thinking about

a gin-fuzz
a beer
and a tequila shot
under Django’s sounds

movie characters in disguise as actors
ant farms
fat guns
whip the heat of the power grid

broken sunglasses
a perfect hangover
scratched by porcelain nails
over the perfectly made 10 square feet bed

and old friend
vanishing in the foam
of the last wave



“i can still remember the smell of honeysuckle rose all along that block”

jueves, 9 de agosto de 2012

Drawing by Amy Mascena

God made the matches
God made us fight
God made rice and barley
God was trying to do right

God made the caves
God made fire
God made the kind hearted slaves
That will polish your skull while everybody is singing in the choir

God made the roads
God made blues
God put in your head that me you had to abused
Yeah honey
God made you

God made boats
God made guns
God gave me two hands
So I can reach your throat

God made the summer rain
God made the pain
God made the heat
God made the love in vain
All the love in vain

God made the money
God made the sound
God made the plough
So I can bury you deep in the ground
Deep in the ground

God made letters
God made stamps
God made the swamps
So you can be drowned
Oh, drowned

God made the watches
God made the snakes
God made the poison
And your tongue that shakes
So they could meet in the night
And kiss
Just for me
Just for me 

God made the trains
God made the dice
God made the knives
God made the rye
And the bourbon for tonight