midnite tea blues

the clock is about to hit one
and now that sunshine is gone
it's midnite tea blues time, she thinks,
all the has-beens and will-bes are done.

the china pot with emerald holder
heats up as the night gets bolder
the breeze barges in from the window,
she thinks, it can't get any colder!

oh, how lovely is the midnite tea blues
erases all the memory, leaving no clues
and just for one single moment
nothing really depends on the news.

whoa, how she loves midnite tea,
recollection washing up in the sea,
and bedtime milk too --
fresh almonds and daytime pea.

los angeles is los ángeles

3 writers do not a generation make
but
the hideous human angels do
and

writing for/with/to the hideous human angels
with holy arms and holy shoulders and holy armpits

certainly do make
some generation.

sometimes it is good to recall
that los angeles is, in fact,
los ángeles

and while we submerge into
the not-so-holy abyss

the 3 writers are always there
or at least should be
to remind us

life is not the unholy abyss
but it's
the holy tune of salt peanuts
and the holy cheeks of Gillespie

explaining how he likes
his salt peanuts.