It’s Sunday in the Barrio.

Tis is also Sunday here.

The cobwebs are all shook loose.

Except where memory is not clear.

The streets are filled with silence.

They still dreaming in their head.

There’s nothing but the fear to feed.

About what was and wasn’t said.

I tried to love, my needs are small.

Any less they’d be none at all.

Tried and failed to be that tall.

Staying low, not so far to fall.

Here among the monuments and setting sun on a Friday evening, pretty girls stoop for dogshit in green green grass at Dogshit Park.

Strollers carrying babies are pushed by mothers staring into their phones as they walk on past the monuments and dogs.

I sit on a bench watching the boredom, listening to a walkie-talkie squak and droan on… waiting for the inevitable, “wrap.”

The Reverend George Quigley hates me; and for purposes of full disclosure, he has solid reasons.

We met in treatment and I laughed in group when he shared what was supposed to be the most embarrassing moment of his life.

Laughing might not properly convey what happened. I was clutching my sides with tears streaming down my face, with out of control hysterics laughter.

Recently I ran into the rev after years of not seeing him and immediately burst out laughing. By the look disdain on his face… he did not take this well

Apparently this sort of reaction in the face of someone sharing an emotional low in their life can be very offensive.

The nights are longer now and my head aches almost constantly when I’m not sleeping…

Bill says we are killing ourselves with these long hours and I tell Bill that lawyers aren’t cheap.

I need a vacation and one is coming soon. I have a difficult time sleeping past 6 hours and wake up always tired.

Thank God my dream world is rich and private.

I’m standing by at the Shangri-la…

A Porsche with personalized plates is parked in the waiting area in front of me.

An attractive young woman arrives with the bellhop and loads the last of her luggage.

A middle aged man arrives at the moment the woman finds a half empty bottle in an open bag and attempts to give it to the bellhop.

“No no no!” The man said reaching for the bottle. “I need that for later. “

She turns her back, stopping him from taking the bottle. “I am not driving with that in the car.”

“Then I’m not going. ” The man behind sunglasses in the shadows proclaims.

She shook her head and mouthed the words, “That’s sad.” As she emptied the bottle down a drain beside the Porsche.

He walked off with a personal carrying bag, just before she drove away.

A turning point for both I do believe.

I have written more than 1000 poems, prose, opinion statements and fictional lies.

There is little left to say or write that is new or original.

The only thing left is the weather and eternity.

I have a novel written that is still to be published and have begun a second one of those; which is nothing more than mining the past.

Jack was a career criminal at a time when him and his associates lived by rules and codes…

He was north of 60 when I met him and he swore he wasn’t going back inside.

Jack told me, “Everybody thinks they can go through life and not live by any rules. I’m here to tell you that you’re going to have to live by at least 2 rules. Everybody knows knows rule # 1; however very few know rule # 2… And rule # 2 is never shit in your own nest.”

It’s been 40 years since I’ve seen Jack and I like to think he managed to stay true to his rules.

Whenever I hear someone talk about their energy or spirituality, I automatically freeze up!

This is due to the assumption that I believe they don’t know what they are talking about.

“Oh I could be wrong!”

20 years ago when I was in the company of like minded practicing alcoholics and crack  addicts; I often got a similar vibe when I was being told by these folks as to how honest they were…

Which reminds me: What’s the difference between an alcoholic and a crack addict?

They both will steal from you; however the crack addict will help you look for it later on.

There is a beauty in silence…

To listen.

To disagree.

To say nothing and walk away.

Oh how they want to debate and pontificate their great opinion as fact. Even a fool who says nothing can appear wise…

I think this is why I write, however I really don’t know for sure.