Ode to Califorina and Karen Traders Mother Dead at 36

I remember the day you died  
the freeway shutdown for miles  
jackknifed tracker trailer  
the road bathed in magenta.  
 
The sky had opened and bled liquid sunshine,  
you felt my worn breath, you  
knew what I knew, you hid behind waterfalls  
you were encapsulated by roaring bullets of sunlight,  
the scissors through cortex,  
the tungsten glow of the mind at sleep,  
the nightly TV head.  
 
I remember the day you died  
there was quiet when I woke  
morning was on her knees and I knew you were gone.  
 
A dog sniffed along the seashore  
at Laguna beach    
a lonely window was shattered  
Streaks of off white candle wax  
hardened on the bedroom floor.  
 
Across the hall a heart pumped loudly in a naked chest.  
There were eyes starring into the traffic  
on Hollywood blvd.  
Bread was sitting on the formica table  
next to warm milk in a glass.  
 
Rock music drifted in through and open window.  
A star  exploded on the tv screen 
and cocaine piled high on the pink counter top.  
Jesus hung above my bed; my apartment was quiet  
and smelt like fresh paint.  
Outside women soaked up the citie's fog  
then glowed and slept in crucified light.  
 
She died in a car crash  
on the Santa Monica freeway  
while a dope sick  angel sung gracefully  
for a mad stick and a boy coiled in a corner- naked  
and traumatized.  
 
I could hear sex in room 15b  
Alta Saga motel.  
Outside a kid rode his bike in circles  
around a dead palm.  
Nextdoor the room was gray and inside  
a heroin mother defiled sun wine and sprayed  
her blood into the LA sky.  
 
And in magenta there was a dog  
sniffing alone on Laguna beach...  
 
When you died, the newspapers missspelled your name...  
 
When you died the sun burned a drought.  
When you died they were filmimg a homosexual porno in the Valley.  
Catalena was in sunset.  
 
needle,  
 
razor,  
 
aspirin,  
 
O+  dried in a porcilian sink  
 
And in magenta a   
labrador is alone sniffing the sand  
sea spray coating his nose and wetting his fur.  
 
I escaped to the mountians  
and lunged for the clouds.  
I still love you and wish you back.   
So,  I sigh deeply and think of tomorrow... sigh deeply...  
 
Sunday beasts dine at the Gorgon's feast.  
 
San gabriel mountians at sunrise.  
 
Her last, last, hurrah!