all the colorful crayons are boxed and lidded-

then stepped on- or broken

tossed out-

even though- their colors

have only multiplied

the damaged- are lesser than

they can melt in the landfills

not to worry-

they have an app for that- coloring

leasing the creativity to apple

while the thumbs and fingers-

detach from the core

forgetting how to draw-

passcoded- and unable to deviate from the lines

hard to touch the textures-

when zoned out- flatlined from emotion

when all you can feel- is touch screen…

years ago- when he was on a different team

same city- dressed in lights

she had a suburban smile- near virgin

i know he fucked her-

they took their turns in-

like she’s deserving

some dessert they were serving

dished like an assist-

around the back pass with a dick

balling- hits shots with swishes

trying to forget the misses- while hanging with ms.

to be blunt-

he fills his swisher sweets

with green treats- it’s candy man

howl- like halloween he eats

now- this man’s not a kid- still got a bald head

that’s enough said- i got shit to right too-

words to be read-

on the back of the jersey

my last name- autographed in cursive

my number sewn in drops of red-

words i’ve bleed

but in the city of angels- we all have halos

los angelenos getting wings- winded in training though

at the fowl line- just shootin 3’s from behind the arc

she was a bird in flight-

florence nightingale- arching her back in the dark

dribbling past noah- boarding the arc without a dock

sailing like gwen in no doubt- after she found the 2nd spark

a narrative with an arc- like joan of arc

hearing god talk- she was no groupie

wrapped em like pigs in a blanket-

dragging around linus and snoopy-

her game a trophy- opposite of atrophy

he’s no hall of famer-

she’s a great player- was her boyfiend

getting played though-

she was getting laid

late after the game- and he was stuck with play-doh

all stars- lit up and barred-

on hollywood boulevard

quiet when the night rains noisy in our head-

the sniffles get loud when tucked in bed- now he balls

on reality tv instead-

in actuality- my reality- like must see tv

but- her words- like a  movie- played in my head

the moment ran through me

all 3 working- in a kitchen food serving

living- trying to make an earning

me- her- and a dishwasher- were converging

of all our co-workers few gracious- in gracias- or thanks

to the man who cleaned the plates- in a town snowing with fakes

she acknowledged life’s language- how to translate

to the man who didn’t speak english- she showed grace

saying it all- as he saw the smile on her face

in a nod- he returned the thanks

the overlooked man- understands

the smile that crosses the lips-

so- she was young- and fucked guys in the nba

playing for their profession-

she was the professor- who showed the lesson

between a star- and dishwasher- she owned the lexicon

that her lips were glossed on- so smile- and game on…

 

 

 

 

i want to be her tomorrow-

and favorite ice cream- spooned in

to salt the caramel of her mouth

her tongue- swollen in the sounds

hand tied- and cufflinked to magic

even though she believes card tricks

are an illusion-

but pets the snow leopards- and tigers

that pull her on stage

caught- tangled in the tail…

oz is a zoo- where everyone is held captive

almost us- in the u.s.

along yellow brick road-

where the streets are paved in gold-

up to the curtained tower

behind the veil of pride-

thinks he’s a lion

the alpha male-

under the mane- a sick man

going back in time- to cages

caved in exhibit

glaring at the lil ones-

for holding lollipops- and singing

the silver back gorilla- a baboon

nearly extinct- a dodo bird

flappin around the galapagos- bitter

in suit- cotton candied- stringed top to toupee

eats sundaes- off banana boats

pushed around by flying monkeys

wing worn in despair-

fear- is a flight risk

when only caring about greenbacks-

and border crossings

praying to darwin- and the founding fathers

wondering when- evolution is gonna kick in

wake up- stir langston

push back on this dream deferred-

to realize-

we are only caged in our creation

taking off- pilot light lit

to gas in the flames- hourglass of destruction

our creation- ill in illusion

if we are cowards- made of tin

without hearts- then lock us all up

and throw away the key-

making sure- you click your heels twice

cause- there is no place like home…

before rome sang- ‘love is what i got’

we sat sublime- me and her

in the shower-

double headed and high

marbled to the floor- rounded in

pupils piling- pilled out

peelin off lessons-

teaching in the faculty lounge-

factoring in the facilities

pouring ourselves out-

downing- intellecutal discourse

to the drain- wet dreams

steamed on streams

in seeds of consciousness-

naked- as time paraded by on float

eyes- waved in waves-

mind full- and drenched in saturation…

some words are sexy-

like her finger nail polish-

even when- stayin in

and hair up- messy in play

others- dance the polka

not in spanish-

but rollin the r’s- around in dots

played with in droplets

xylophoned in ivory-

elbow greased- between the shattered keys

sunstruck by luna- at half past moon

daily pours and pokes

pulling on the roots-

lead to porous canals-

and a river rising

vanishing with the ghost-

pepper- seeded in spray…