Published November 19, 2017 in LA Stories - 0 Comments


This is it.

This now,

This moment.

It’s happening in real time,

right here, in front of us.

Where are you?

I saw you and then you were gone.

I asked after you

and they said that your house was teetering and

defying gravity.

That you were a tight rope walker.

I knew you knew.

What the Mind Wants

Published November 16, 2017 in Cintusia - 0 Comments

What the Mind Wants

Cynthia dreamt what
her imagination asked of her
as she slept in a castle.
Jimmy came to her
and they had a fling.
She got pregnant and had to tell him.
He also had something important to tell her.
Neither would yield until the other
shared their secret.
Violet, Jimmy’s girlfriend
flitted around in the background
while George, Cynthia’s husband
watched them like a hawk.
No one cared, she was writing her next book.


Published November 12, 2017 in LA Stories , Mickey - 0 Comments


Sing me a story, won’t you?

With a melody sweet and plaintive.

Sing to me about the time

you loved so deeply, true and simply.

Before the busy

complications of life

turned your chords into regrets

and your voice into

a hoarse and bitter growl.

Sing me that story

that I know you still remember.

Lan of Metters

Published November 7, 2017 in Hank - 0 Comments

A Lan of Metters

Milkweed and black sage,

California native.

Butterflies and humming birds,

wind in the orange tree.

Sneaking a quick smoke

on the marble table

Cracked by the sun,

broken by the spirits.

Made unemployable

by the night time rag and bitters,

Hank ranked among the lucky ones.

Came from Old New Amsterdam

to be a writer in Hollywood.

Wound up driving a rented car

in the Republic.

He’s a thirsty Joe with a sister in tow,

don’t you know?


Published November 2, 2017 in August , LA Stories - 0 Comments


Sometimes, what we deem “fate”

is just foolishness.

She walked in off the street asking

if they were hiring.

And, coincidentally, they were.

She had a good resume, credentials

and, more importantly, she exuded

warmth with an earnest smile.

Just perfect for the front desk person.

No one bothered to do background check

or to call her references.

If they had, they might have gotten some

inkling into the kind of damage

she was capable of inflicting.

And maybe, just maybe they could have

saved themselves some pain.


Published October 30, 2017 in LA Stories - 0 Comments


Was a badass guitar player.

Like the huntress,

only her Strat was her bow.

And her solos were the arrows

she shot into the night.

When they gigged at the Bowl,

all the wild children went crazy.

She channeled that

into a blistering lead

that floored it off the bandstand.

The moon shone brightly.

Louisville Slugger

Published October 27, 2017 in LA Stories - 0 Comments

Louisville slugger

“Hey batter, no batter, hey batter, you can’t hit.”

Bat, listen to me. I need you now.

Come here, I kiss you.

Swing and a miss.

I bite you!

Just make contact, that’s all.

Foul ball right field line.

Pretty please,

with sugar on top.

I lick you.

One base hit, It’s all I ask.

The Principle

Published October 21, 2017 in Max , Ophelia - 0 Comments

The Principle

Ophelia was frantically packing all the things

that she could justify as being hers.

Which was basically everything.

After 15 years of marriage,

Max was left with the toaster

and 4 plates.

In her haste she threw away

on unopened bottle of dipping oil.

What you might have on fresh bread.

Max took it out of the trash,

why let it go to waste?

She saw he had saved it

and threw it back in the garbage.

Rather it wind up in landfill

than with him.

The Forger

Published October 17, 2017 in LA Stories , WB - 0 Comments

The Forger

Some of the best criminals

don’t choose it as a career path.

They don’t wake up one morning and say,

“Yeah, I want a life of crime.”

They gradually fall into it one little compromise

and action followed by another until

they’re in too deep.

WB’s Max Ernst sold for five million

and it fooled even the most

discerning collectors and dealers.

It was the dirt he put in the painting

that he collected from an attic in Barcelona.

Just Deserts

Published October 15, 2017 in Jack Sprat , LA Stories - 0 Comments

Just Deserts

God works in mysterious ways.

Rashes, sores and pestilence.

How people love to make him responsible

for all manner of random.

Then search for the meaning why.

Was it retribution or reward?

A death in the family,

the whole block burned but their house was spared.

The tree was struck by lightning and the sap exploded

sending shrapnel towards the house.

In the window was their coat of arms

it took a direct hit and smashed to pieces.

They’re cursed now for a whole generation.