Wishful in LAA shooting star,here and gone.There's no use hoping -it's a meteor withplaces to be, andit can't be burdenedwith small wishes.The stars shimmering,are useless, too.They're so far away,even a wish travelingat wish speedwould never make itthere and backin time.It would just becomemore star dust on the floorto be swept away.So I cast my wishto a humming streetlamp,so, maybe,that girl in my building,or that girl in my class,or any pretty creature on campuswill understand I'm just alonely, wishful guy,lost in LA countywho could use somecompany on the warm,star-speckled nights,when the streetlights hum.
Cafe MediaA new home,a new café,the same activity:People watching.An iced drink before me,I have a viewconsisting of eight women,across five channels.Channel 1: Shes white, and wears short pants exposing somewhat thick legs. She eats from a black plastic bowl, and drinks something orange. Black bangs caress the top of her pretty face.Channel 2: Two girls, very attractive. One in sandals, the other is fashionable heeled boots. The girl in books is turned away from me, has thick curls in her hair. The one in sandals is something Middle Eastern. They study.Channel 3: Two Asian girls talk with their hands. One is dumpy; Vietnamese, Chinese, Im not sure. The other is Japanese. She pretends to talk.Channel 4: The background of channel 3. Two Indian girls, separate tables, study independently. One leaves. Seven women.Channel 5: Black, facing away from me. Static.[click]Channel 3: On closer inspection, her thin frame, and defined features - shes Filipino, not Jap
Deprived in LAThe woman here areunfamiliar and unloving;I live without tenderness.The water here istainted and putrid;I live without tea's purity.The places here areforeign and cold;I live without bearings.I live without sanctuary, without comfort.I live without companionship, without release.An affectionate body,some clean water,a cafewhere they know my name;This disheartening deprivation.
Dis-MantleDraft after draft,piece after piecewhere does it all end up?Six feet under,An Urn on the mantle.Unless, in some far-off daya group of scholars,men with white hair,women with sagging breasts,decide your shit is worth reading,and grade-school teenagerswill learn to hate you.The weather is mild today,the trees shade is comfortable,theres enough distant distraction.Its just a poem.
Sleepless in LAThey lie to youright from the start.Sleep,they tell you,is necessary.It's a lie we followout of habit.Why be unconsciouswhen the world is still?Why miss out on theskies, weathers, noises?Why avoid this timewhen things won't matterfor at least a few hours?It's the lie they tell youright from the start.The Beatles were right:All you need is love.And even that,you can fudge a bit.It would be nice ifthere was another sleepless bodyon my balconywho knew what"good night"really means.
KatyKaty KatyK is for... uhAnd what's more...There's.. some dream,Yeah, a rhyme scheme. or somethingthe words don't singchalk it up towriter's block.- I sayFuck you, lifeLife saysFuck you, too.KatyfucK Acrostics They're a waste of tYme.Katy