poetry

two square miles

we get on Los Feliz

drive West

towards squinting sun shards

hands on the radio

hands on restless backseat feet

knee on the wheel

“I like that you can drive with your legs”

he always says.

our car is forced downward,

south down Western

through ugly

through old motels, ice cream peach

through pharmacies

through street people

between Mc Donald’s and abandoned parking lots

turn left on Santa Monica, no

make that Fountain,

it’s faster I say.

east bound

blaring scientology blue

hospitals, one then another

npr voices, imitations, full bodied laughter

we cross over Sunset

sighs all around

freedom found as

Hyperion

beckons homeward

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2 thoughts on “two square miles

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