Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

empathy is the new black

in their golden age
MGM and the other major film studios
would throw grand conventions
gala parties for its male executives
with a standard of decadence and debauchery
as to make caligula envious

a cattle call for female extras
would be sent out
the girls would show directly from costuming
to be herded
by the bus load into the hollywood hills
to what they thought was a set for filming

only to find out
they were expected to play hooker
and cum soaked
by louis b. mayer and his army of greasy trolls

so when i see the entertainment industry
feigning concern
holding #bring back our girls

proclaiming empathy is the new black

i see it as the latest
box office blockbuster hypocrisy

give me a break
who the fuck do you think you’re kidding

you bastards were the boka harem
before a terrorist ever kidnapped
a nigerian woman

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

yellow blooms

he was a dead poet king
with a porch atop
the hollywood sign

we reclined

on his beloved engorged red tomatoes
growing in terra cotta pots

burning a vial of keef
given to me by zeus
at a night before dinner party

i remember thinking he looked
like a tennessee egyptian
as he passed me the long brass pipe and matches
smoke unfurling from his nose
his velvet and sand voice warned

if someone tells you
they think they just wrote their best poem

there is no best
i said
only pieces we find more resonant
we perpetually have a stronger write germinating within us

everything evolves until it dies

reciprocity is divine

stars were flung from our orbiting hands
as we collided
picking up the same flying champagne glass

exploding nebulae
of bubbly reverie sent spinning

my fingertips
covering my geisha lips

when he said

that’s the thing i love most about you
the way you place a hand to your mouth
when you laugh

it’s like for one more stolen moment
you are holding the happiness inside

the yellow blooms hanging about us
began their bowing prayers for the sunrise

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

zippo slight of hand

she stops fingering pearl buttons

to hurl the speaker
into the face of her dressing mirror

when robert plant’s voice
bleeds onto her black dress

that he’s going to california
with an aching
in his heart

“You don’t know fuck!”
she screams as

glass shatters perpetually
into crime scene fragments
upon last year’s unswept floors

the moment seeing fit
to make her an undertaker again

she buried
the king and queen of cool

in the same casket
beneath white metal desert windmills
rosary beads
wrapping their clasped hands

bodies still adorned with

his fedora
her spiked heels

swearing never to visit the grave
pretending it was never real

because he was already still
on the bottom
of someone else’s
just beneath the hollywood sign pool

belly full of xanax
liver pickled with vodka
tongue swollen with loathing
gun chambered heart choked with lies
record collection pawned
pockets full of weighty justifications

refusing to watch him die

“Yeah, how’s that working out for you, baby?’

the devil asks
doorway leaning
as he lights a cigarette
zippo slight of hand
blurring her sight

“Reliving it night after night…”

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends


marlon brando’s corpse
was left forgotten for weeks
by his addled children
after it was embalmed

locked in the dark back room
of a california mortuary
inside a kentucky copper casket

cardboard covered with blue felt
staple gunned polyester cream lining
and aluminum hand rails

but the godfather was bigger than the container
in which he was placed

somebody finally scraped together the cremation fees

one hell of an ending for a man
who in life
filled streetcars with desire

whose funeral was attended
by 30 flower cars
and the heads of the five families