Thom Garzone

Ariel and Me

At night we stroll past West Side Sacramento’s streets,

holding hands, eager to return and let our tongues

vibrate and extend into each other’s mouths.

At home Ariel fixes me tea, serves me rice and yams, 

about all we can afford. Ariel sits so serene in his favorite

spot on the sofa in our parlor. E.B. stops over and pours

his mystical light on me. E.B.’s words whisper shroud me,

for Ariel to become jealous. Hot winds pervade the humid summer

air, swaying our Venetian blinds that tap against the windowsill

as a soldier’s cadence. I gaze out our window, down

an immense boulevard waiting for a calming silence to come over me.

Endless Summer Mentality

In my mind’s prison cell delusions fill its space.

I struggle to sleep at night, contending with the

facade of my existence.

Peace is sparse and I am unable to flee

the fires of the summer, a burning hell

among fears I face.

I want to free myself of my responsibilities,

to ride along Idaho’s riverbanks, letting winds

flow against my body.

Promises I give myself, academia at my feet, success bleeding

from words are weak branches of my being as I pass

through these lengthened seasons, these snapshots of time.

L.A. Trip: July 2015

Baked in Burbank heat, thick traffic expands my brain. First day and I hook up

with Bob P. who brings me to a Hollywood N.A. meeting, recovery gathered

in the film industry's underbelly. Summer rain falls onto Echo Park, a drunk man

lingers between lanes, abysmal, disoriented with society. Second day and I

see why they call it Los Angeles, because it's filled with lost angels.  

I searched for Occidental College somewhere in Eagle Rock throughout one morning,

circling the outskirts about 3 times; but the struggle ends when Kingfisher

finds me, and we meet up with another friend, Calokie, and we go out to lunch.

PCC opens in the embers of my memory, running into old professors, counselors,

and a venerable mentor. I understand how life wouldn't be the same

if I hadn't been drawn by the solicitous temptress of the city. Mid week, a dear friend

and I attend a reading. More sweltering sun and hot waves keep calling me

as I drive over streets I had cycled on, bused, and been chauffeured on, yet now

I emerge to this summit where past NA friends still gather just as 15 or 20 years ago,

where rap artists run readings, and Japanese poets are well-received in their voices,

the land overwrought with desire, roles acted out in trills of human insight,

or poetic words that compel me as if it were two decades ago.

More friends, like guides, lead me to this plateau. 

A lunch in the early day with my fellow poet, Calokie concludes a balance spreading dreams, casting thoughts onto arid boulevards, settled endlessly in hope, embodied like a fantasy in time. 

We walk through the college and show how it serenades my purpose, 

and for all Angelinos, I owe this promise.