-Smoke billows from my lungs…
The 405 at midday, from 6 to 7, and
through the night; headlamps
weaving their way through,
fading in the cavernous passage.
…I stand watching…
Mobile entertainment centers
on four wheels, weaving through,
what was there, is there,
and will be no more. Ravaged,
for the need to live by want,
desire to have more than we have.
…the cigarette end burns in my hand,
I let it fall…
Uproot nature and supplant it with
a new landscape of concrete, plaster and tar.
The neighborhood always dreamt of,
A hundred miles away, at the other end of the 405
- 110
- 0