l.a. breakfast

so close to death
it flavors your tonsils
it coats your throat
it closes it tight
a cardigan
you can't unbutton
one that
tastes your soul
in large bites
and strokes of suffocation
it wraps your face in plastic
steals your breathe
without love
without mind
no reprocutions
no consent
a mental
spiritual
emotional
rape
never mind the physical
take it for what it is
in orange county
it is no coffee additive
no cinnamon
no vanilla powder
no crazy flavored sugar
just blood spurting from your navel
in
alchoholic death
just blood shot eyes hoping to close
so you will not force them open
just lovers who sleep in the night
wishing you would hold them
in case they wake up
to have found you
shot
dead
by phil specter
in a glorious purple morning
of mourning
all wrapped in sheets of red
and left for the press to laugh at
regardless of right or wrong
and cell phones hang from trees
like decorations for christmas
yet santa or christ never call