To Live, To Die, To Lie–Is L.A.

there are many ways to go here—

by cop

by car chase,

by crack pipe cacophony;

by needle, by hooker, by pimp,

by family façade & shot gun blast;

by rolling, bowling

or safety

pin

 

there are many ways to die here—

by gun, by miracle, by stairway,

by asphalt crucifix, by random knife,

by hollow tipped bullet

by freeway strangler

by van of horrors,

by murderous hippy gang,

by skin head, angry & stomping

on a million dollar street corner;

by bat, boot,

billyclub

or bitch.

 

you might go by night,

close to dawn

held tight to the moon’s poison beast

yawning a scream into the twilight

found squirming, alone and gasping

done in by bulletprone vest,

by schizophrenic sword

by butter knife,

by pipe,

plastic bag

or model airplane

glue.

 

you might turn up

ziplocked and encased

in the coroner van, seeping and putrid,

pierced by rattlesnake,

or twitching

in the garage–

as some empty bottle

some urban sprawl unrealized

some lawsuit about to be filed

some palimony case

festering in a lab

some needle puncturing the scab

some addiction

sheathed in lycra

ball gagged, hand cuffed

chained to a leather studded

electric chair

eyes glued to the computer screen

in a ditch on the side

of the

cathode-tube

road.

 

there are bridges to crawl upon

walls to scrawl upon

something ugly

every which way

hiding, biding

and counting the minutes away

 

a thousand ways to die in LA

one way to live in LA

choked by ivy, stifled by gasoline

and daily vapors

 

haggled to death on street corner

poisoned by food peddler

addled by tax dollar bug spray

cast into a lake of fire

bleated to death

by deacons of change

molested and left for dead,

grasping for one more fix

to kill the pain of being violated

under the cloth and color

of God,

all that is holy and sour

and usurped.

 

you could wind up carved up

and left for dead

on the plastic surgeon table

etherized and smiling

reaching for a burned out star

blind and acrimonious

hoping that someone

makes a buck

a book,

or a blockbuster

out of your last moment

of fireworks and panache

in helL.A.

 

 

–East of Los Angeles, Califas. circa. 2004. Unpublished work.

Copyright 2018. “Bad Days, Binges, Bullets and Bureaucracy.”