I missed the six o'clock
So I watched the city wake from the one hundred block
While a man preached to the pigeons about why the war is wrong
When the next train came I left
And then I found a seat that faced the great Los Angeles
The motion calms my eyes and draws my sight out toward the west
Where I see the tall palm trees
Planted there to make the coast what it’s supposed to be
But California hides her dry skin under covers of old magazines
Don’t believe her
She will bury you alive in shame if you let her
Down
Underneath crowds
I see children in the waves
They run into them then they turn their backs and run away
They stretch their milky skin out in the ripened summer rays
But I sleep all afternoon
There are Greco-Roman statues in my living room
And I wash but there are spots left on the glasses we don’t use
Regret slips round my neck
Then it scratches and it pulls me into a circle
Here
Drawn on top of us with a compass
Every time I sleep icons hang over my bed so
Every time I speak I expect a new paragraph
I see myself in these photographs
With soft washed light and I am always smiling
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