Punk Waka: take 2

Another Christmas
pulling a Lew Welch; holed up
out in Borrego.

Poetry reading
or 8-ball at biker bar?
There is no question.

Raking endless leaves
Walkman blares some classic Soul --
Four Tops' Same old song.

Hollywood and Vine;
where we wiped the butts & spit
off Gene Vincent's star.


Atmospheric choka

Almost ran red light
transfixed at dawn this morning
on way to work fast
in the Impala, the last
thing I remember
their sudden raucous cry then
pandemonium --
the riotous chroma of
wild parrots soaring skyward.

Blue daytime reveries

And meanwhile back at
Pete's, slipping over to play
"Let's get lost" on juke --
Ah Chet, if you were still here
I like to conjure
you living it up with a
nice lady Realtor
in San Pedro who sports you
some dental implants,
a chill backyard pool to lounge
in with plenty of boozy
tropical drinks, and
a few bucks now and then to
scratch that last itch to go
try your luck with the ponies 
up at Santa Anita.

Sissy Buckles