sharon told me so

i see them standing there at the gates of the cities that will take them away from this place.
formal dress and formal ware,
collared shirts and bows in their hair.
i see my father reaching out
trying to touch the memories fleeting before him like the moments before and after a california sunset gone too fast,
moments passed standing under the bare limestone arch that looks a little bit like triomphe before us.
the blue tiles glittering like lapis,
we are the subjects for fodder of ancient gods steering into the depths of hell to meet charon on the marshy banks of the river styx.
we stand there collecting plates of alms for poor souls passing by without coins,
instead, you and i grab books like life rafts floating downstream.
i see my mother staring back through the brass gates that separate the hot from the cold on this quiet november day.
they are about to leave them behind in this second-rate closed state of mind.
i don't want to tell them all the things i have to say,
having lived a little longer,
having gone the wrong way, plenty.
so instead i'll sit here in the corner and watch them walk away to make their own mistakes,
to live another day their own way.

slap

the moment you slapped it, i knew we were compatible in bed.
extreme body modification swinging limbs over my head, disappearing above and below the demarcation line of standard sexual conduct leaning towards a little deviant instead.
suck it, squeeze it, slap it, punch it, suck it, squeeze it, slap it, punch it. slap it, slap it, slap it. yea, ok. slap it again for good luck.
2009 in san francisco was a delicious time to be on top of the world. standing at the tip of golden plated gates, walking on water and naked bodies on steamy lakes,
access to heaven through the castro's back door, exploring minds and bodies and souls through music and laughter and more not giving a shit.
exploring places long gone tipsy on fog, wigs, paint, and all the saints lined up at 18th and dolores.
or were they nuns? the sisters of perpetual indulgence they call themselves, right?
up against walls and buses i'll paint this city with screams into the night.