Car City

Two-storied, multi-family housing stretches deep.
Visible cars; let them take the first floor.
This is car city after all.
Big Boy knocked off of Bob.
I know who you are from how you wear your hat.
Don’t look back.
Eyes gleaming, I see reflections into nights' latest hours.
Hawk rising high, catch my eye,
Make it cry,
Tell me lies.

Oil spout out from the dirt,
Go ahead and cut the whole hillside up.
Folding behind houses,
Weaving between split streets,
Large mountains reveal themselves in the morning breeze.
Salt dry against my cheek.

This city is through,
It eats me and you,
One thousand lives,
One thousand times.

The belly of the beast.
A creature which rarely speaks,
Its heart beats one thousand rounds per minute.
Pumping, aluminum and steel and stucco hold this city together.
Pump me full of this city.

Walking down Rustic Canyon Creek
The water is low, though frogs don’t seem to pay that mind.
Through dirt to wood to concrete to Santa Monica beach,
Quite honestly parts of that beach reek.
Blue collars bowling turned white; soon after celebs skating on late nights.
Pomona bless this citrus.
The sun-gold state.
Oranges ebb as the day goes.
Beautiful colors of pink and white.

Down hot blacktop streets,
Dry grass catching on chain link.
Take the red cars down to Long Beach.