loveandrevolt

[loveandrevolt]

[loveandrevolt]

[loveandrevolt]

[loveandrevolt]

[loveandrevolt]

23 Fitzroy Road

The moon tonight is

the full kind -orange and jovial

You, are not listening! -buzzing in the clouds It is too late for me to die in O’Hara’s arms! Or in Whitman’s beard, -plant the fig tree I always wanted!

so perhaps as penance, allow me to hold my breath, to match the depth and hue of your eyes, just as they were that winter morning.

-los angeles

[loveandrevolt]

A Thousand And Four Trombones

how often i have thought of

you us and the yellowing reckoning that we have never drank from the same glass

there are parades for such things inside my mind with the likes of Sousa burrowing in me, my ugly with a thousand and four booming trombones. los angeles 3/19/2018

[loveandrevolt]

The Girl

and we are here, inside spread like christ.

squinting at the red and green smoke alarm lights – our very own fireworks show, bursting wide across the ceiling – now you are wrapped around me, sleeping – let us, i say spend every moment just like this. we’ll make morning check out, sneak back in and spend the day poolside; at some

point, i will dance with a towel wrapped around my head to make you laugh, like the good guy in the movies that never gets the girl.

Chatsworth, Ca 3/25/2018

[loveandrevolt]

[loveandrevolt]

A Dream I Had

I shared the dream I had of my

grandmother’s hands peeling the skin off a wet almond. She plucked it swiftly from a bowl of water but the almond didn’t feel a thing, I said, I promise. The only sound

was of the water reaching out with perfect circle arms towards the rim of the bowl. So we were sitting on her balcony, and the warm buzz of the outside, was breaking against our bodies and leaving delicate pink bursts on our skin. And across the street

a man who seemed to be pieced together with hand-me-down scraps of flesh and bone, was leaning against a half uprooted palm tree. He brought a brown paper bag to his face and tilted it up towards some unseen, quietly, churning constellation above his head. Whatever he was drinking drove his already gnarled face into ebbing convulsions under the blanketing shade of the palms. The Valley,

she sighed, the crater of Los Angeles, the gash, where liquor stores and strip malls give birth to other liquor stores and other, strip malls. Now, come closer. Listen.

I have poked out your grandfather’s eyes with my knitting needle one thousand times over, every photograph. And every sleep, I would come at him from behind the door, from under the bed, from out the closet, and none of it, none of it, gave me peace. The evil that men do, is no excuse for the evil that I do, and this is the truth.

Do you want one? she asked pointing the bowl towards my chest. I woke up before my fingers dove into the water, before I had an almond in my grasp and before daylight spun godless into the gash.

01/29/2018 Los Angeles

[loveandrevolt]

[loveandrevolt]

A Front Yard In The San Fernando Valley On A Wednesday Afternoon

Remorse flashes and evaporates in the

atmosphere of his eyes     and like that, I know the black still sea of him once raged and destroyed all manner of good.

with a swift raising of my flat palmed hand no thanks i say, to his offer of a cigarette.

and suddenly a foul mouth memory separates us

Sit down I point to the chair,

enjoy your smoke, I’ll see you inside when you’re finished.

[loveandrevolt]

-Excerpt From: En Route

IV

Fi, Fi, Fiona! I make you purr, don’t I baby? We are not stupid, are we Fi? We are not desperate, or poor. We are not hungry for anything at all. We are proud, proud, proud, of our bones, bones, bones! We need to wake up though, Fiona. We need to capitalize on this moment. We need to lick the dew off every leaf, off every blade of grass. No one is going to do it for us, am I right? I’ve told you that story of when I was a child, yes? My 8th birthday and my mother telling me: No money, no party. Go outside. Play. How I went outside and found 3 crisp 100-dollar bills, fanned out perfectly on the scorched, September tarmac. This is God saying you are very good boy. God love you little son. Happy Birthday! God loves us, Fiona. God loves the shit, out of every one of us! VII Your father, Sasha, was a very beautiful man. He look like Julio Iglesias. -

My experience with death, Fiona, is something we have never talked about. I was in the 6th grade. A Mr. Green paid a visit to our classroom one day and with him he had one of those cheap coolers you can get at any drug store in the city. This Mr. Green, he went around, one by one to each of us and lifted the lid off the cooler – inside was a little bunny rabbit. Rotting away with thousands of maggots chomping in unison, -you could hear them tearing at the remains. The smell, Fiona, it was and still is the most retched and foul smell I have ever encountered. It burned into me something profound, it revealed and destroyed all at once. It showed me that we are all in the end, food for the true warriors of this world. Maggots! My second experience with death is by far the worst. I was 21 and working in a downtown jewelry store. One morning as I was passing an alley that housed the trash bins for 2 large tenement hotels, I heard a muffled scream. I looked up and witnessed a man leap off the roof of one of the buildings. It was a horrific scene as you can imagine. He hit every single fire escape landing during his plunge. When he finally made contact with the ground, his rib cage had exploded, his insides were oozing, his organs were tossed about like meat on a butcher’s block and I just stood there frozen, watching the steam begin to rise from his body and for the life of me I couldn’t move. One question kept repeating over and over in my head, and locking me in my spot. -Could this be my dad? Yes, I know it’s crazy, but something compelled me to ask the question! I walked and stood over the body. I stared into what was left of his face and I knelled down to get a closer look at his hair, to make out its color through the blood, to imagine its style before the impact. -BACK AWAY NOW! I jumped up and back, all in one grand motion. The policeman pushed me out of the alley and out to the street. -What happened here? He jumped. He jumped from that roof, and now he’s dead. -Yes, he’s fucking dead! -What the fuck were you doing hunched over him like that? I, I was curious if he might, maybe, be my father. -Your father? -You think this guy is your father? No. He’s not. His hair is all wrong and he looks nothing like Julio Iglesias. -Listen to me, and listen carefully. -Are you listening? Yes, officer

[loveandrevolt]

Crush

my mom in her English, asked me for a margarita. a few sips in, she starts bragging about her level on candy crush "you know my number this candy crush is 1121!"

i had no point of reference, for all i knew, that score could have been horrible this woman is 5ft tall and when i was a child she weighed no more than a few bags of groceries but she would take a hit across the face, like a heavyweight contender     O Hoss, you brute!     O Hoss, with a belly     full of monsters!          my mother now crushes          your peppermint face          and your jelly bean eyes.

[loveandrevolt]

DiveBomber

You’ll be the death of me

the lady in the produce section said to the cucumbers. The cucumbers for their part said nothing.

- yes, i do in fact believe that i died many years ago, and this life of mine is a reset of sorts -you know, i always felt that i was never able to truly convey to you- my beliefs on the matter- maybe over dinner tonight but essentially i believe that the universe does this so children could live out the lives that was taken from them. --he did kill me! he tossed me of the ledge in a drunken rage! yet i'm here ...i think. -what? of course. anything you want- breaking me is     ALWAYS fair game Your cock IS the real deal, a true dive bomber! it's seen it’s share of battlefields, lit pink at dawn blood drenched at dusk and all the rest and everything in between! - hey! I’ve been thinking about William S Burroughs- don't ask- but...he once saw a couch floating past his window... turns out it was a few guys moving furniture but from his initial perspective it looked like a flying couch! and it was a moment of pure inspiration for him, -or it could have just been the heroin...

so i'm not sure yet, if you’re my flying couch or a bunch of endorphins dry humping my synapsis. so far, you’ve only inspired me to spend a few extra minutes at the produce aisle picking out cucumbers for our dinner tonight.

[loveandrevolt]

Poem - Daybreak - Reading

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Poem - Daybreak

[loveandrevolt]

Poem - Bleed