Easy Street

I’ve seen hypocrisy in all its forms, shaking, sweating, writhing on the floor, crying, “Mary, mother,”

all she wanted from Man, her second husband, was honesty, “hot coal white lies burn faster than gasoline,”

without money to feed her children, she had nothing,

running to Laocoon, telling his children, “be honest,” loquacious until he leaves,

by the end, justice was never the means of love on pavement pillows dragging sleepless teddy bears through sex caves,

i may never leave this place at the edge of the water,

with sunbathing mermaids wearing snakes over their shoulders,

slithering into West Hollywood bathrooms, promising fellatio friendships, transactional lips cashing fraudulent checks,

another name defiled on graffiti walls, shattered teeth until he falls,

comatosed in liquored conversation and ketamine, weightless words floating on Palatine Hill side Emperor penguins sleep waddling

above the city, my vision blurry, beanie babies smoking cigarettes over pool top balconies, celebrating an American birthday they barely know the president of the house

they drop acid under starry blanket skies, liquid lubricants fill blurry eyed men intent on pounding bare-chested banana hammock boys, professionally dressed in bow ties,

comrades of cock shooting bittersweet blue-collar-chit-chat,

spur the horse to greener hormone pastures where compliments shower from crumpled paper-headed presidents, bowed in prayer, hands squeezing

rosary-bead-G-strings,

Great Buddha bellies bouncing in the sand, washed up Siddhartha panting, spent seed dripping, glistening, forever studious at the courtesan’s feet, truest lover,

he’ll never leave this place,

i just wander around blind,

wings made of wax, soaring over balding romantics in Camus t-shirts, chatting politics in a bathtub mortuary, doors closing, crowd thinning, milk mustache nose rings kiss glossy Sephora lips, moist finish, exhale, blowing hot creamy yacht money,

set sail,

subconscious climbing, hand over hand, up the Great Wall of Garbage, fresh cement wildflowers, jack’s beanstalk sprouting up the gate, the only way out, past the security guard smoking, scrambling higher, to the clouds, where the air is thin and the giant sleeps beside his golden harp playing Chris Brown, serenading sweaty lumberjacks while they cut the tree down, in montage, i fall on my face, the Camus bros walk by, laughing, pour me some tea while i'm down here, English Breakfast please, the ants want some too, just a sippy-sip while i radar the next arthropod, tip the driver, “be a good man and drop me at the nearest scooter,”

vroom vroom, over white powder telephone lines, no signal,

somewhere in Juarez, i hit a K-Hole, painless, guiltless, everybody skips the toll booth

on the way to you, push the scooter down, traffic lights flashing, i present to you!

the narcoleptic trapezist!

flying into...

pothole contusions,

for a moment, seaweed lovers dance in storefront reflections,

with different colors, but the same gentle smile, every window passing,

a new set of eyes tempting memory,

Get up,

honeycomb hair, baby curls, the one that broke your heart, the one that stole your heart, the one you did the same to, the one and only, yours truly,

lost in mirrors,

she’s not there, just a missing smile, my silver streak phantom, dancing, illusive, just out of reach in recent memory,

her rose petal lips, Athena’s aegis, shielding me from love’s shadows,

lost in high tide hips rolling gently outside Calypso’s cave,

not yet trapped behind the glass, old mannequin models, stripped bare, colorless flesh

zipping by, I’m chasing heavenly quarry, to her apartment in the sky,

free of mirrors, at last, to the last great hideout at the edge of the universe, her bare legs’ embrace, waiting,

one block away, two hundred and fifty feet, the STOP sign flashes red at the corner of Easy Street,

When I get there, I may never leave

-Los Angeles, 2020

#california #freeverse #poetry #easystreet #shortstories #challengeofthemonth

(read another story, published at Everyday Fiction)

https://everydayfiction.com/coke-bottles-over-golan-by-austin-treat/