driving up western at 6 o'clock in
october the sun is sideways to my
left and up el centro i see the purple
moon large and harvest with
orange salt and sky rings,
and coke dreams.
the twenty-somethings head
to acting class in 99 seat theaters,
santa monica boulevard and tiny
caves of black boxes and hollywood
palm tree sunsets and notecards,
aspect ratios with numbers of
late nights getting darker
and say hello to the wet gutters,
the skip to the beat, the boys in the
poor choices but holding hands, head
falling on ever gracious pillow,
hardwood floors to bare feet and
spinning records on an unemployed
tuesday. same routine.
meditating on timothy leary, feng
shui furniture, cross legged yoga pose,
and sketches in the morning.
dark wood on four walls,
cave-like statues and tableau's
spread out length-wise on the bed.
goodbye in the mornin' with sketches
and dark wood floor and rolling over
on stiff joints.
goodbye you'll drive away in your
car and i in mine.
to santa monica blvd.
to el centro.
where my dark cave waits for me.