american spirits

los angeles
is a little stuffed up
and it's so hard to get
a clear head let alone
a clear view of the little people
with their heads growing big
but with no green scent on
their thumbs though they still count
their checks please
can you separate
the orders thanks doll
you're a star
of the unrecognized
spray paint property lines
hissing a desire to be known
while intersecting freeways
that reek of rage
despite driving directions
there are still so many lost
angels fallen like those put-out
sulfur matches stricken
blind to local history
inside dusty street murals
painted with less lead than before
though soon some other poison
is just waiting to be discovered
like dirty diamonds in the rough
coal factory

way past santa monica
where bright lights blow
out the night unfastening
the sparkling fake diamonds up above
the salt the sewer the breeze the sea
of faces placing orders from outside
seats reserved for some peace
of mind or at least some fusion
dining and valet parking by the red
jackets not too far from the yellow
jacket stung hills flowers draught burnt sage
incense near rose garden piss alley
bus bench evictions
rent control

there's no way to see
so many would-be stars
the hundred million light
american spirits

twinkling dimly only in the outdoors
tossed with haphazard risk
near the gas tanks
leaking the premium secrets
of smog tested cars
passing by in flying colors
hinting of the oil spilt
blood in the desert
but looking away from the east
a lady with her papers
and her baby's breath
slung sweetly like real milk
her young is just looking
over her shoulder
those tiny gusts soon turning city sour
after switching to the recommended formula
sniffling a thousand tears
a hundred hungry smiles
a crying baby
food stamps to produce
a produce lane hold up
in the express lane
there are just too many
items and beyond
the parking lot

the bus benches systematically
vacated but never vacant
she's passed over in the morning
rush rush right by the (un)familiar
armenian thai salvadorean seasonings
filling the wrong Hollywood
air around family owned markets
with questionable fruits
about to rot
before they can make it
home.

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