Southern California is ablaze on the first day of the summer. The smoke billows and paints the Orange County sky a sad portending grey with
just smoke and death that hovers in the sky, the moon red like the skin of a red-scarlet rose. So I watch Brando scream mumble rage and rumble in Black and White.
On the Waterfront
A Streetcar Named Desire
The Wild Ones
And I think to myself, while my cigarette burns a grey tornado of delicious smoke:
I want to be like Stanley Kowalski, that crazy Pollock the girls fear and make cute fun of: (Stella Blanche and Doris); I want to eat greasy chicken like a pig then throw my plate against the wall and scream in people’s faces, flip over card tables and knock out three of my friends after they stick me in the shower to sober me up.
I want to use words like Hoytie Toytie and smile like a heathen, drop to my knees in the pouring rain and scream my lovers name with my shirt ripped to shreds:
I want to work down at the docks with the Longshoreman; wear a leather jacket and get a cool carpenter’s hat, the kind that people say at least once a day as I pass them on the street:
“Hey, cool hat”
That’s right, I want to be handsome, a big mouth hotshot with my leather jacket and Triumph motorcycle, work on the waterfront with Marlon Brando and Karl Malden, make Hollywood drama with Kim and Eva and pretend that love is actually real.
I want to live where there is always smoke and death in the orange-greyish air, and the moon is the color of a red-scarlet rose.
**poem by me and pictures by google