Tuesday, May 7, 2013

A Walk to Santa Monica



Desolation angels
with Lululemon between their thighs
Avoid making contact
with their eyes

Who never saw
the lines upon their face
Only the lines of their youth
arrayed upon a mirror

Dreams that once took flight look back
at houses made of glass
Dreams that pierced through morning smog
Destination: Nowhere

The sign along the roadside reads
California 1
But all one sees are lost souls
Thumbing for the coast
What did California win?

Huddled outside a super mart
Heads or tails, a coin is tossed
Democracy in action
for the dispossessed
Who goes inside to lift the masses daily bread?

The hobo jungles
under passes
Pillows made of sand
"Why did the hobo cross the road? you ask
To seek shelter on the other side!

Roads always end
when the land gives in
And the Road they call Mother
ends at a pier Where

Desolation angels
with Lululemon between their thighs
Avoid making contact
with their eyes