Los Angeles, My Lover

It’s another toxic sunset, keys slapping on the keyboard
sounding like thunderclaps. My town, my lover,
caught in traffic, caught in a web, cautious and cold.
Cauterized when I caught her eyes. I colored in
your landing strip, your LAX best, and then left
low and mean one night when you were making a scene.
I guess that’s happen when you can no longer pretend
that this love affair was for forever,
cuz’ forever can never end.

I got a place in my mind: palm trees and other things,
starlets on coke and fingers penetrating rings,
long streets burnt from the sun’s bleach. I close my eyes
and go blind. I got a meandering speech I wrote just for you,
open my mouth but close my throat, words get caught
up on freeways, down in the subway, in the weed shop,
talking to a man named Pops.

Brake lights, Christmas trees burning on the concrete,
little by little you sneak away, as the gym rats boil
in the steam room and you and I sail on a dream cruise.
Every port held hostage by pirates, photographers
snapping death shots of this high life. I’m two beers down,
you’re downtown building skyscrapers from broken hearts.

You’re a star.
Every boy wants you.
Every girl loves you.
Every magazine owns you.
You’re a heartbreak machine.

Los Angeles, my lover, my dime store undercover,
Your 2 am boy is under the pier, listening
to the street hawks and carnival barks,
surrendering to the miasma and veneer.
You lay out and unroll the red carpet
to carry me off like a mobster target.
Flashbulbs catch my ghost running away.
Ghost legs, skinny legs, many ways
I can skin this cat,
but don’t ever fucking call me Matt,
yeah, I don’t respond to that.

Installed my bionic ears
so I can hear every tick-tock
of every bitch clock that flip flops.
Uploaded my x-ray eyes
so I can spy every kick back
from every bitch slap that gets pass.

Dug in deep on La Brea, my feet stuck
in the tap pit. Burned in Venice,
skin peeling. DNA left in Son of a Gun.
Came home to what I was…
Hiked Mt. Baldy, picnicked in a shit creek.
Bowed for your applause, your demigods.
I am the blood swimmer. Toothpick grinner.
Take my picture, I’m a winner.


2 thoughts on “Los Angeles, My Lover

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