el centro

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,

fingernail wishes

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

agents.

palm tree sunsets and notecards,

aspect ratios with numbers of

birthdays.

late nights getting darker

and say hello to the wet gutters,

the skip to the beat, the boys in the

street.

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.

goodbye 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.