i can’t wait to sleep in front of murder house

(April 2022. Decentralized poem co-written by Billy and Matt Salort. Interesting 3 person dynamics. I wrote the least– can you tell which lines are mine?)

i can’t wait to sleep in front of murder house
it’s my favorite spot in all of la

drunken watery eyes and lily pads upon guilty heavy pockets

tulips dried, a faint whiff of rot
his eyes went dark as pudding
and the rest drained white as cream.
for the life you owe me.

i owe you everything and nothing
and we want to owe the future

value is together

value is in flesh
pound for pound
the butcher is my friend
a nice mom and pop shop one of the last on the block

the epoch of incredulity began again
and we celebrated the Summer of truth
in the Fall of lies with all the authority of spirit
for good or for evil we understand
what is not believed is no longer true

april has been a very long month
april has been a wicked short month

the skateboard kicked against the red rubber ball in the corner
boinking straight back to the foot—
to boink again

it boinks as i stoke my own flame
remind myself that the life i want is lived by chasing fire
it is in the act
the pursuit
worth is defined by the chase
not the outcome of what is caught

i don’t drink when i drive i drink when i arrive
over the small crest checkpoint of
a truly remarkable view
it is in the act;
the looking
that purpose for welcoming more
into me
undeniable

as the wasteland that is Oklahoma City confuses us so does the trinity
within each of us unfelt,
but persisting perplex me as well
creatures of the previously isolated
cave are swaying before they sleep

here in los angeles the show won’t get us
in our sleep
tonight i am most vulnerable and safe
and as much as i die tonight
i will live tomorrow—
my next births wait
sleeping.

until i hear the familiar hiss of artificial rain

i feel like a lighthouse
a wet brick building
i feel like a sweet last breath goodbye
like a night spent in painfully short bliss
the company of angels sours when they’re gone
i remember every stinger every thing i’ve ever done wrong
my eyes are open but my mind drifts
the same word rattles through my skull

wahala