Nomady

wayward
waving poems, photos
street art from places

156. A Part One

Stillness like early morning is 5 p.m.-
steady breath tight, steady land.
Tongue bites sideways

Chew up drug-mouth sick-o.

I am less swollen,
you are the same brand.

Eventual nails chip to erode skin,
touch up eye sore gaudy yawning.
The blemish was never there,

Exact and last in fact it was

So bad as chairs who lose themselves
in duck duck goose rounds.

20 minutes sessions scripted
scraping away excess, never sleep with ease.
Fan blades tingle pushing air back into me,

It’s simple. We don’t exist when we want.

The night light might be in jest
out of focus bubbled dreams.

Still mush gush brain born high
enough to realize this joke
is all on you- the all of you- washed up

See weed simulate seaweed?

Imitate nutrition disguises hide keys
clues for the sleuths on call

Until booze no longer fills
stomachs or soul holes to boot!
The shoes I wear hurt my feet yet remain

Graphed and strapped, shot gunner’s seat.

Mapped in delusion gap, wait and see-
There is some where to walk with me. 

Feast Of Flies

Flies seem to take precedence
in the thick, residents of a skid row-
Bodies rotting in wheel-chaired seats
Hot and hungry like in parts of Africa-
Near you only in downtown L.A.’s treat.

Blood-red thirsty, dirty-white, bruised blues

By daylight swarms fain quick to wholesale
your heart on 3rd-
Yes, these are our American streets.
By night it is natural, illicit.

The flies feast.

Police chase on edacious beats
Like it’s a new gilded paradise Right.
Who’s right? Crack heads in bare feet
screaming for leads pissing downstream-
It hurts most because we are all fiends.

Blood-red thirsty, dirty-white, bruised blues

By daylight swarms fain quick to wholesale
your heart on 3rd-
Yes, these are our American streets.
By night it is natural, illicit.

The flies feast.

It makes me uneasy, fucking wheezy
queasy knowing this finicky frisson growing
where brume won’t let raindrops
fall down to us. Wash it away, the sickness-
deranged air quality broke it, defense weak.

Blood-red thirsty, dirty-white, bruised blues

By daylight swarms fain quick to wholesale
your heart on 3rd-
Yes, these are our American streets.
By night it is natural, illicit.

The flies feast.

Nisi Matissi
Los Angeles, 2013.

Passer-by skies’ surprise disguise.
Nisi Matissi
Culver City, 2013.

Passer-by skies’ surprise disguise.

Nisi Matissi
Culver City, 2013.

I’ve Got Dengue Fever

Dark storm-y
cloud guitar,
Sounds drown sweat
beneath a
Cambod’ian-
spun surf rock.
Waves break down
an ocean
competing.

Nisi Matissi
Culver City, 2013.

A new layer- fresh skin saves
for a new day. Leave
underneath flakes tomorrow.
Nisi Matissi
Venice Beach, 2013.

A new layer- fresh skin saves
for a new day. Leave
underneath flakes tomorrow.

Nisi Matissi
Venice Beach, 2013.

Back alley 
palm’s cloud
smokes power lines,
Sun’s setting soon 
beside tonight’s 
full moon.
Nisi Matissi
Culver City, 2013.

Back alley
palm’s cloud
smokes power lines,

Sun’s setting soon
beside tonight’s
full moon.

Nisi Matissi
Culver City, 2013.

Neutra bunnies.

Neutra bunnies.

Yes. Be good.

Yes. Be good.

It is what we make it √

It is what we make it √

Times up Weho!

Times up Weho!

Outlines of One Another

Curtain blows sunlight
Shifting face beams of orange-
Yellow stripes from blinds

Delicate across
I surveil yr sleep face stir

A shoulder mole shakes

On yr back, hairs stand
Frightened then I imagine
Embrace for shiver

Relief. So peaceful
In such slumber to disrupt

Instead I ponder

How our bodies compliment
Each other’s mirrored.

For Scott
Los Angeles
Nisi Matissi 2012.

Cover of my bathroom graffiti art coffee table book. Wait for it…

Cover of my bathroom graffiti art coffee table book. Wait for it…

“It’s Really Big” thrashbird

“It’s Really Big” thrashbird

Bassnectar Breakfast Bacon

Eggs pan-fried to death. Where is
the qualm of thingness
fought in morning light?

All day we play together,
often a little hard
to bulwark our witting

trying to whale off nightmares 
with wanton harpoons
instead of waking up. Futility

reigns. This we could not fight.
This we could not reroute to save lives,
except next to one another. 
 

 
Nisi Matissi Koreatown, Los Angeles 2012.