Los Angeles, Again.

I am not here
In this lonely little room called home,

This place
One day blurs
Into another
Then blurs into one more.

Pull closed the blinds
Block out the light
Close my eyes
Drift, softly into restless sleep
On a lost melody
Drifting above a concrete
Desert in synthetic bloom
Pulsing, humming
With electric life.

I am home
Within concrete canyons

They’re not rumors anymore
At the sound of the tone
The time is now
One hundred seconds

And what I wouldn’t give
Just a few of those
Wasted years
You know you know you
The ones spent weathering
The storms of resentment
And wrath

To spend a few seconds
As the second hand counts down,
Regaining love once lost
All wrapped up
In those fleeting moments
Of connection

Sleeping in the safety
Whispered words that never wound
Behind closed doors
With the deadbolts locked up tight

Shutting out the cold
Closed against the winds
Of disaster

I always joke with my students
Writing is what I love most
Even though it will be
The death of me
That is
If warheads screaming
From the sky
Don’t put an end to me

Before the curtains close
I would like very much
To write one more story
A story
That did not end in tragedy
But a tale
Of life
And loss
And triumph
That told itself
Until the end
Until the circle closed
And the characters healed
Lived full lives

This is, we are.

Saw a dead mouse in the driveway
Walking home from work
Not a mark on its tiny body
Just like it was lying there, asleep.

It seemed significant
Or like it should be
Like when we were young
And my friend
Came across dismembered
Bird wings lying on city streets
Every day for a week
She took it as a sign
That the world is ending

That’s when we started
Drinking cup after cup
Of black coffee
In the opening
Days of the anthropocene
Desperate to know
What it all means

Back then we wore
Our worries on our sleeves
We battered our hearts
Against every street
Like they were our shields
Drank through our nights
Into the morning

Now we wait
And watch
Powerless to stop
Unable to look away