He gets the Portland rains
stays in for days
getting the heroin
drip
drip
drip
well, if you have to come down
at least it drains…

smack smack smack
he feels the pain
she says,
“if you wanted to wear the pants around here,
you shoulda put your belt around your waist,
not your arm, dumb bell”

He says, “You’re going to the moon!”
Alice, his fist tightens up
arm veers up, She gets sick, Ralph!

it’s punctured now
zoom zoom zoom
Two rocket scientists on a bus
to an outer galaxy
making candles out of themselves
dripping and melting all waxy
wane like

Whatever Lola Nation wants she gets it and did she ever.   Born and raised in Venice Beach, her poetry has circulated the literary underground for over fifteen years, ten of which she was on a hiatus, typical sabbatical from sobriety.  She writes sloppy free verse for poetry and is in the process of writing a Dorothy Parker-esque novel entitled "All the Men I Slept With Volume I" depicting the life in the wrong place at the wrong times for  woman from the age of fifteen to thirty.  Her frequent posting place is the writerscafe.org/lolanation or myspace.com/lola_nation.