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i wanna wear my life out
like any true fighter who
took the talent god
gave them

and made the most
without regard for pain
of it

giving the world the
very last of all
they got

i wanna wear life out
like any true fight

take the talent god
gave 

make the most
without regard for

pain or 

self

give the world the
very last of all
i got

change of heart

i was frightened by an accusation in a nightmare, it nearly broke me. i woke up pained, unwilling to return to bed. i called my father three time zones ahead. we shared our memories of late nights listening to the loons, the wonder of the call. one moment mournful and stops you in your tracks, then ascends nearly in laughing. what a change of heart.

response to mikulova

i remember how we met last year, a hopeful time for us, our mutual friend turned me on to your work. we were closer than friends really and had never been acquainted. up late the night before i read what you wrote then drove, me and my guy, down to alameda to see daniela, her daughter and you. memories of life in oakland flooding through me. the party was great though a little too much. you were tired from traveling the world and camped out in a big chair, anyways, and i came and sat down by all of you where we exchanged smiles and made eyes. the music and laughter and smoke. of course your words, the ones you wrote, i thanked you for them. this is how it can be with us writers.

sapphire

you touch the sapphire eye for solace
without looking when
inconsolable

come to this country never been
here before

the ones you meet either like you
or dislike you for no good reason

america
a period to end all the sentences running
and running away

a pitch turning colors displaying a royal
flush of feathered tails

have another vodka sapphire eye sees
you home

skull

i once envied you
who

could give
a fuck or less

see what has become
of you and

your thick skull

i am sensitive and was
bullied for it for
years

now i see this as my
greatest strength for
i am woke

you
you get all your groceries
delivered

you think no one
gives a damn
and you’re
right

journal august

the sky was a peach at sunset and a fire at dawn and we ate lemon ice and prayed that the city's electrical grid would hold up. the number of homeless had risen and not all could not be housed, and caring citizens were combining forces and giving away tents on the weekend. others were cold complaining to cops and assemblymen: get these sorry-ass derelicts off of my street!

do a few lines

i got going early. two hot mugs of coffee with hazelnut. shredded wheat. did a few lines of Hemingway. to have or have not. rather full of booze and game fish and racist, too. i got outta there quick. back to my own stuff. maybe less charged or controversial, but at least i'm not washed up and over. edits for an hour on the manuscript and up and hit the interstate in my '04 GTI. the sun was burning hot and i got something to lose.

pace of life

the pace of life runs along with or without you. setbacks make it harder to keep up. sometimes you need to stop and talk to someone. share your feelings. then pick yourself up and carry on.

i delight

a single cricket found his way into my home and hides on the vine. i delight in his courage to make music in this strange and dangerous land 

telling

telling was the night upon the day long and hot and humid until the end

the night and
     like a shot it shut
                         you down

i took you to the spot
where all the revelry
was muted

distant

the interplay of
telling you how i
truly felt without
a word

the science

the science was a whisper
held against it
up against the
wall the
kiss

the sameness

Any need to explain yourself by your heritage was obviated by the sameness. Whether you liked it or not you would be classified by your skin color, initially. Even the ones classifying you would insist they were not. Sadly, some might not even know they were, such was the state of lack of self-awareness.

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excerpt from my yet-to-be-published novella

Katya 2019

There may be hope for me, I thought, rolling the smoke between my fingers. How different everything felt. The box, the stem, the lighter, the cig. I could sense the tobacco leaf inside the paper. Crunchy, resilient, it bounced back when you pressed it. I set fire to it and watched it burn and glow. I felt the smoke hit the lungs and exhaled at the top of my breath, I can breathe. Maybe I will last, after all, I thought, relaxing and getting used to myself again, taking drags. Aden looked worried, huh, I suppose they all did. I wish I could tell him...I still see things that turn me on. The barber shop cylinders have gone dark, the neon lights are lit, the end of the night far away, the dance floor naked and ugly without a dance. I paid the check and smiled. - Katya, Trouble '99