The Secret Life of Crayons

Of all the world’s mysteries
that stretch across the eons,
is one that mystifies me most -
the secret life of crayons.

They seem so simple lying there
or in a tiny fist,
drawing up a family
or wishful Christmas list.

But when the stars are shining down
and dreams drift trough our heads,
they peek from boxes, desks and drawers
and tiptoe past our beds.

Black and Grey take to the streets
and Yellow, just a little,
takes their hands and leaps and skates
precisely down the middle.

Brown and Umber climb the trees
and swing down from the boughs;
Sienna strolls along a fence,
counting all the cows.

Lime and Mint and Forest Green
play tag across the lawns,
over bushes, leaf to leaf –
the secret life of crayons.

Pink and Purple, Goldenrod,
they stop to smell the blooms;
Plum and Melon, Yellow-Orange
thread flowerbeds like looms.

Silver, Gold and Navy Blue
take long walks in the city,
until the buildings, cars and trains
are shimmering and pretty.

White, she disappears alone
with precious few selections;
she whispers from behind the moon
and kisses its reflections.

Sky Blue and Sand meet up with Tan
and fill the cracks and crannies,
while Lavender and Burgundy
check in on gramps and grannies.

Cerulean and Salmon leap
through Periwinkle skies,
and all the others tumble home
with giggles and goodbyes.

Few have ever seen them, true,
and fewer still admit it,
that morning always seems so bright
because the crayons did it.

They scamper back into their place
as we stir in our yawns,
never guessing that there is
a secret life of crayons.

Hevel

walk in alone
walk out alone
and in between
there’s stuff to own
and calls to make
and work to do
and someone who will
make you blue

bets to place
on daily races
(if you’re lucky
little faces)
things to worry yourself sick
a perfect day
a little kick

yes in between the doors is where
we carve our names
into the air
and just before we know
we’re gone
we think about
whose mind we’re on.

Esplanade

(since this one carries some fairly localized / potentially obscure references, i'm using it as an excuse to fool around with hypertext poetry. i’m hoping this will lean more towards interesting than irritating. if not – well - there’s always next thursday.)

Me and Davey cruisin’ in his brother’s fifty-six
dual carbs out-duelin’ every chord from Brick by Brick
summer nights and city lights and candy-apple shine
tryin’ to capture something we could never quite define

up and down on Esplanade, hangin’ out our arms
rumble from that engine settin’ off the car alarms
ridin’ on a ribbon where the world meets the beach
tryin’ to capture something always just beyond our reach

The girls along the sidewalk
with the high and frozen hair
in their denim skirts and jackets
in the damp and salty air

and the guys were high on lift kits
or on Ninjas, in Chevilles
slidin’ wasted down the ice plant
that was hangin’ off the hills

there was music from the pier bars
there was sand inside our shoes
and the surf just kept on rolling
and the longnecks and tattoos

Me and Davey cruisin’ in his brother’s fifty-six
dual carbs out-duelin’ Siouxsie Sioux, Fishbone and Styx
summer nights and Camel Lights and candy-apple shine
a couple hamstrung heroes with some cans and knotted lines

up and down on Esplanade, a taco and some fries
rumble from that engine catchin’ Novas by surprise
ridin’ on a ribbon where the world meets the beach
tryin’ to find out something we could turn around and teach

I’d be smokin’ out the window
he’d be lookin’ for a race
grab the shifter like it bit him
get that look across his face

with a few bucks in our pockets
we had nowhere else to be
we’d drive over Vincent Thomas
just to see what we could see

kinda funny, when you’re young
you never feel you’re gettin’ older
time just creeps up like the fall
every night’s a little colder

Me and Davey cruisin’ in his brother’s fifty-six
dual carbs out-duelin’ every tape that I could mix
summer nights and traffic lights and candy-apple shine
sittin’ at an intersection, waitin’ for a sign

up and down on Esplanade, trying to dodge the cops
rumble from that engine guaranteed a couple stops
ridin’ on a ribbon where the world meets the beach
and the sun slips in the water like a ripe and broken peach

After graduation
we were wild and fast and free
and every night was Esplanade
that Ford and Dave and me

then around September
all the kids went back to school;
Davey got a union job,
I started cleanin’ pools

and the last time we went cruisin’
I don’t think we even spoke
all that empty ocean shinin’
like the moon fell down and broke

Me and Davey cruisin’ in his brother’s fifty-six
dual carbs out-duelin’ all the things we couldn’t fix
summer nights and Miller Lites and candy-apple shine
on the run from something we could never quite define

up and down on Esplanade, to nowhere every night
rumble from that engine drowned out everything in sight
ridin’ on a ribbon where the world meets the beach
on the run from something always had us in its reach

up and down on Esplanade, the years just kinda pass -
you either find a place worth goin’
or you just
run outta gas.

Dime Bag

five heads inside five coolers
in Jalisco, by the road
where the kingpins make a killing
and the poorest pay what’s owed

it’s a dime bag on the corner
it’s the puff before you pass
it’s a mother’s moan in Juarez
just a little harmless grass

they still move the bricks of black tar
and the keys of yay and hash
but money’s in the mota
growing fast and green as cash

and it’s flying over Phoenix
tunneled under San Ysidro
and it’s hauled up through El Paso
and it’s shipped through old San Pedro

and it’s just a simple matter
of supply to meet demand
and the competition’s buried
in the Sinaloa sand

dismembered bodies in a Buick
parked outside a taquería
another day in Acapulco
and another bad idea

it’s a dime bag on the corner
it’s the puff before you pass
it’s the multitude of missing
just a little harmless grass

when the factories are shuttered
and the runners ride in style
when you buy a kid’s allegiance
with a soccer ball and smile

when the cops are all complicit
and the army is the cops
when the devil makes pozole
and the murder never stops

when the money’s flowing southward
thick as Texas river mud
from the cities, ‘burbs and backwoods
blowing off a little bud

it’s five heads inside five coolers
it’s a barrel full of lye
it’s a way to make a living
with a thousand ways to die

it’s a dime bag on the corner
it’s the puff before you pass
it’s a few hits in the alley -
just a little harmless grass



[if you're interested - the L.A. Times is doing a remarkable job of following the war you almost never hear about.]