grotesques

edge of a funeral
hopped off the bus
where a cowboy hat
rested on a juicy corpse
all that liquid all over the floor.

lavender, rhodendarins, rose.
you and I
we passed through the train station
with its clunky mechanism
telling us only
to be cowards.

old man this side of green grass
not growing in wicker or wisps
all that dew
coagulated in blood stains
on the floor of the godawful metro.

things happen, these things
where a gang member
got cut in half by a metro wheel.

can I tell?
there are two I love and live for
not these sacks of organic phosphate
bumbling through the harrow
of drugs and life.

in Hollywood
I stole a cup
because you asked
and the transient evasion
set the ideology of the police
into flames
that burnt gawkers
and tortured faggots
because
because
they never could know you
and I realized the kindest thing
you ever did
was letting me relax my tired head
on your wounded shoulder
when we had no heat
but only third degree burns
after rearriving
from this side of Hell