before we’re done

Here now, after there, and before we’re done:

Los Angeles, tossed into the wormhole, kept inside the confessional,
nailed to the sidewalk by angry Korean locksmiths, shouting:

“Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!”

The ultimate mindfuck.

Give me your ultimate mindfuck, and I’ll show you the key, out of reality.

We all know it here:

Like Depeche Mode says, one caress, and I’m blessed:

Shivering under the freeway

Standing near a beautiful woman

Getting a new apartment

Going to a show

Standing in a large party

Under the shadow of the Scientologists

Under the shadow of the night.

Give me the shadow of the night, for I am thirsty, and my long wait
must be rewarded.

Let me drink.

(Ohhh)

It is too delicious. What did you put in it, Los Angeles?

You fucking drug pusher. Pimp.

Give me the night and all its names.

Tell me: am I still wanted?

Am I still needed?

Fight me.

Fight me.

Fight me, fandangle me. Fear me for the flour we’re grinding, hum dee
ho, rum rum:

As Pee Wee Herman observes:

Micka Licka Hiney Ho

And this koan describes a large portion of Los Angeles:  ass lickers,
of course, but more, as they transform it into a mystical right . . .

We know Christianity was built by Roman Emperors to fuck Israel.

It is possible Islam was built by Israel to fuck them back.

Or maybe that was Hollywood.

Dream with me, of the long delivery

And dream with me, of the midnight flash

Come calling at midnight

Left drinking at midnight

Turned toward at midnight

Whose name was eternal

Whose light was an ocean

Who danced

Hum hum hum

Who danced

Hum hum hum

Who was it took the name from the mountain and put it on your forehead?

You terrible mark

Terrible day

Like Cain

We are a city of Cain’s children. All right. All right, fine. I can
dig it, indeed, move it, wheelbarrow it and reassign it in the
categories of meaning to something fruitful, once we are singing

Give me the long delight
In the rain

Kill Hollywood with me, with each of our long knives

If Titus can do it, so can we

Let’s fuck Israel together

And Rome too

Fuck Mecca, and fuck Uruk for good measure, and Gobekli Tepe

Like Ginsberg says, it’s all holy, baby.

The asshole too.

Still, some things are more holy than others . . .

Give me the long division

In the long breeze

Give me the long night

To open the curtain

I am the curtain

This is a temple

Our cult is holy

And there is no night or day

I am not alive

Or dead

I am just barely breathing

Our voice is a thousand suns

And Los Angeles is our plaything

If only for an hour

A day

A week

Five months, at the outset

Give me the strong production schedule

Order twenty pints of blood

Polish your hair

I am rehearsing my lines

We have no need of money

We have honor

Even Cain’s children have honor

Even the voiceless are stars

Burn with me, the permanent midnight

Underneath the freeway overpass

Burn everyone

Burn Tom Cruise

Burn Natalie Portman

Burn our most beloved, anyone you can name

Anyone of our city you can name

Burn them

Burn them
Burn these princes in their holy vestments

Blacken the night with their song.

Blacken the night with me,

And I’ll hold you close

Take me to the river

So we can howl

I am breathing some night I have never seen

Out of the water I can see the stars

~~

This poem was first performed at Second Sunday Poetry in North
Hollywood, September 11, 2016.

~~

Visit Robin Wyatt Dunn online.