Evening Prayers (Poem)

Beg in bedsheets, kids.



New worlds are seeping out the light crater in star proximity disco ball brilliance bite size swarms of grandiose confetti in the black.



Our hero shifts in Camry discomfort, rickety gold-plate wall ghettos, adjacent to home/hell duplex compounds.

Neighbor.

Neighbor to family - one hustler of strays, blinking driven snow aryan irises and being proud, forging a deal and breaking a promise, to get the gold plated rickety fed and returned in time to soften the blow of destitution.

Neighbor to friends, aspiring to family and filling vacancies while the gold plated rickety re-rickets under our hero the wheelman.

Neighbor to foes, kin for a certain tag, blowing their ride and trying to ricket the rickety out from under you.

Neighbor to mentors, conspicuous as hey look, turning all the wrong heads towards the golden rickety ricketing in the molten light.

Neighbor to the Montague to your Capulet, a capsized lawman, lending the initial bills, before those golden plates wobbled like Jah; bad experiences sitting awkwardly in his stomach as he takes the shit side of karma into his own hands, crispy cautionary, as karma christens herself “melanoma” just for him, and leaves him rickety as your home.

Neighbor to closeted Reagonomics conspirators, lamenting the eclectic tones in the sun, dreaming in three garish colors that make themselves known outside your rickety golden cave, walking away from explosions and getting the girl, grunting in slow motion aviators reflecting collateral “necessity” in head-shake grimace deluxe packaging while they're in the back, overpricing something over at Goodwill for a Lincoln.



Beg in bedsheets, teens.



Take the best parts with you, and eat!



Eat! Jovial things, take handfuls and ache from fulfillment, hold your sides in satisfaction.

Eat for those sans mouth post grand mal while looking for height.

Eat for those empty in even their walled up exteriors.

Eat for those without hands to hold forks and so clutch molars about fumbling silver but ever fail at shoveling without inertia.

Eat for those who hug the linoleum before asked, overeager to please, pleasing no one.

Eat, and pay, for those who steal their bread. You may have met them. I have, and am not the company I keep yet (thank Christ).



Beg in bedsheets, worker bees.



Learn from the Camry Cottage.

Learn from the bumper-stickered case, and the semi-Schneider acolyte technician tool therein.

Learn from God's Gift, a rain puddle near my lake.

Learn from the Ranch, where they herd Ports, and Ports alone.

Learn from the Guatemalan who takes dick and gives nothing while she vends for those who only buy the best.

Learn from the empty doll-house, the house girl lonely.

Learn from a whore.

Learn not to give her housewife lessons; even the 101's are beyond her, so learn other quick routes from Calablackless to Universal.

Learn that you can't ask the 150 driver to stop at your corner.

Learn you're not special, you spoiled brat.

Learn proper translation of stream-of-consciousness.

Learn to be a handful; thusly, you'll get me, only (a handful get me).

Learn to play on words without stamping your feet, lest the words go away.

Learn from Arleta, the bazooka tooth on empty, the crystal clarity, the sleepless summer and a 1000 full pages of poetic indiscretion and obtuse rhyme schemes that I still can't wrap my satin head around.

Learn from prose prayers, the paupers' ghostwritten love notes to luck, to sky, to green and blue, keywords on Google, hoping luck and sky show up, clicking Images, trying to see their faces.

Learn from Search Engines that come up empty.



And love.

Learn about love before you learn from it.



Beg in bedsheets, men.



We're going in.