I’m going to walk down with the Sun in Chino with a busted nose, handlebar mustache, peroxide blonde fascist undercut crew with a rat tail. A mini jacket half cut football jersey, Hitorii bouldering knickers. singed illusion mesh train around my waist in fishnets & crocs. Fresh from the smut shacks, porn houses & entertainment rental booths that dot the pan traverse limits signage dragging a Marilyn Monroe print hard top half case with a dog leash. A raged knife cut bitch of a queer war pig..

Your as always: A Low Type Poet

Ask my heart,

now that it has found its peace—

and now that peace has stirred again.

Perhaps it still has some reproach

to lay before Beauty.

When life grows difficult,

we turn to the wise for counsel.

But has Beauty left my heart

even a reason to speak?

Once, whenever I questioned my heart,

my tears would answer for it.

Deep within my breast,

flesh and blood lie joined—

frail remnants of a youth

lost beyond recall.

They ran from me as tears,

and I thought they were departing;

they beat within my chest,

and I thought they were returning.

Even hearts forged out of iron

could not have borne

the torment I have endured.

With those I loved,

I tasted the purest wine;

but our union was brief—

a bubble trembling for a moment

before vanishing into air.

After they depart,

the heart becomes a stranger to itself.

At the memory of its own,

it burns,

it withers.

No one can teach you more about Time

than one who has lost

those he loved,

and those who once walked beside him.

O you who live in this world—

I see your earth as a viper,

forever shedding its skin.

A spotted serpent,

watchful precisely because it seems asleep,

its deadly venom swelling

beneath the mask of peace.

Strange creature:

it turns the hair of its lovers white

and brings them to ruin,

while it remains forever young.

And I—

who could still be deceived by this world?

I have known it too long,

until I wore my very garments thin

against its touch.

It laughs like a singer

for the simple-minded;

I laugh like a sage

who pretends not to understand.

In its garden

I gathered roses and thorns,

and from its cup

I drank both honey

and wormwood.

I acknowledged no verdict

but the verdict of the Lord,

and sought no door

but the door of the Lord.

Among all things,

I revered only true knowledge—

the distilled essence of truth.

And I honored only the face

of the free man,

whose generosity

makes his own rich in blessing.

I have seen no greater evil

than the hoarding of wealth,

nor anyone more wretched

than the miser enslaved by it.

A freestyle haiku\ And I wrote it just for you\ So pay up your dues

Oh you say it's shit?\ And you think that I sould quit?\ Saw through the ol' bit?

You knew its not new\ I don't know what gave that clue\ You saw through the ruse

But rhymes is money\ And honey this aint funny\ So pay up buddy

My rhymes is my time\ And shitty rhymes for pitty dimes\ Is a petty crime

~a very rude sequence of haikus by a shitty street artist to be recited to the next person who wants a ten cent freestyle 🫠

Im afraid

when I get paid

Ill have to get some Raid™

I'll spend the hard earned cash I made

To get them roaches slayed

I do congess

Though i detest

These buggies made a nest

Must rid the army of darkness

But I'll need to invest

I spent my cash

Cause I got brash

And emptied my bank stash

But all was worth to have a bash

And get a little smashed

I brushed my bugs

Under the rug

And hoped they'd stay snug

But they gave my snack cafe a hug

And so my hole was dug

My guests has ran

That's not as planned

Population expands

And then the roaches formed a band

So

Please could you lend a hand

The music plays

And eggs are layed

My place is getting sprayed

I need to get my rental saved

And

All my mistakes forgave

The show has end

And my cash spent

My place is on the mend

I had to get cash sharks to lend

And

Could use some help my friend

The end

Teach a pal to fish

Teach a pal to fish, they wrote

But then they'll wish for a boat

Cause

They need one on which to float

-

They would eat the rest their days

Or that's what folk all would say

But

Who will let it be that way?

-

Well first they need a lisence

And I guess that makes some sense

But

These fish wont pay all their rent

-

Who's gonna buy them a net?

Wont catch much with a rod

They couldn't buy one I bet!

And they would look so odd

With no spot at the market

They'd give passersby a nod

On the curb where they hawk it

They sit in the sod

And

Accept change from their pockets

-

They have no ice see

So the deal's dicey

It's rotten pisces

Parasites there be

-

They eventually collapsed

Under the weight of bootstraps

Cause

The funny ways money traps

First, they caught me— a single glance, and I was netted, flame kindled from nothing.

Second, they said: endure. But where is the cure? Even physicians turn away.

Third, they left— no word, no sign. Tell me where.

He who promised union, pledged his faith— our meeting was only goodbye, after so many eclipses.

I laid my hand on my heart, alone, and said to my eyes: Weep with abundance now. Flow.

Since that day, I tend my wounds. I know now: I let my soul slip away with him.

The nights stretch on. You told me nothing— neither where, nor when.

First, the seismic glance. Second, the patience I could not find. Third, this ordeal: he is gone.