I’ve been walking around town, looking into windows, buying things I don’t need, nor even want. I like the way people treat you when you buy something from them. They almost look you in the eye. I’ve been seeing doctors so they tell me I’m alright. I’ve been hanging outside the jail to remind myself I’m not in one.
Bartenders tell me it’s going to be okay. Sycophants cheer me on.
The buildings sway when I walk by. I remind myself they’re not going to fall and keep moving. I’ve been grinding these shoes down and now they’re just two flapping pieces of rubber. Life is sometimes better left to a song. I remind myself the planet was this way when I found it and keep singing.
Cab drivers give me Christmas cards. Junkies sing me carols.
I’ve been running with nighttime animals. These beasts look so elegant and sparkly pouring bottled water out on a cactus. The years go by like a bullet train while the days’ excruciating labor runs you over. You’re tied to the tracks and the damn thing is you’re the one who laid them there. I nail in the last spike and keep shoveling coal.
My brain gets upset with me. My lungs like to scream.
The Earth trembles and the pictures fall off the wall. I wear sunglasses inside so no one knows what I’m thinking. I’ve been drawing pictures on post-its and counting my change. It’s the first day of June and I’m considering going back to sleep until July. I keep writing although nothing comes out. The little birds outside crown me the Sparrow king.
Heckled by the crows. Jeered by the telephone wires.
The purple eucalyptus tree is twittering with birds. The garbage bins have been pillaged. Trucks rumble nearby with debris to be hauled away. I’ve been watching the city tear itself up and rebuild limb by limb for thirty years and it still looks the same to me, sun-dried and pale, feline. Los Angeles likes to lick its paws and drag in rats.
The ground speeds me along. The sky holds me here.