Good Day, L.A.
The woman to my left upends her third
cup of coffee, sparks the fourth link
in her chain of cigarettes
Secondhand pleasures to me now–
All I inhale, the toxic trails of passing tailpipes
Sip and stare into my opaque oracle gone clear,
my morning Salvadorian mud
now Japanese green, doctor’s orders
Los Angeles,
What of the lake or the leaves
the autumnal in between, when
the Equinox, a gym
the Solstice, a sunglass boutique
When there is always green always sun
always salty-sweet Sunday laziness
always sun and sun and more
Sun
Los Angeles you are our city now
And I can’t tell, I cannot
if this city–if the collective
if I, if you, if we
are in a state of advancing
maturity or incipient decline.
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