ANGELINOS

In the Sugar salon
stuccohillsides and papier mache
a cover band of flogged dogs
doing double time on the drums
free cans of beer and sangwichitos
eybody in skinny jeans and atrocious
footwear, all the boys fey and discriminate
like the hongos of Audrey Hepburn's toeshold
the VietCong and choloplatoons
tucked away in places like Los Globitos
or El Compadre, places where Mariachis
dress in colors that blacklight-standout
highlight the Cuervo piss, the unfortunate Tequila
does not even make it over the ten or the pac coast
highway, the sandlots of blueprint animus poking
through Wilshire swine and the savages in rancid
pussy pants so tight me fight the curve of dongrake
in Versailles, the portal of garlic chicken and maduros
in the aorta of Venice but not the one on La Cienaga
or how the Yoruba wench in headwrap paper caught a 'tude
when there was relax enough to get a load or her
and her snowdrift daughter in law and the mocca baby
the scrupulous uncles in trainer suits and fashion kits
Mexican waiters at a Cuban restaurant and the dykes
with photogs in the employ and the lifeguards of dismal
stank, that kind of stank that is supernatural versus
the smell of the searot that comes traipsing in through
the wind chimes that were a dreamcatcher in a former
novelty-item life before they were snadragons or black cats
or upholstery stitched in Tijuana that a Mexican used
to smuggle themselves into the country of their future hearth.