back to poetry

i put down my work on the 2nd floor

locked during the day in a gated complex,

where the trouble i cause

is minimal…but pulling out of the lot

pressed my clicker an extra time

for sure

drove down wilshire, then crenshaw

(avoid the pothole in the middle of the middle lane — where they are building the expo line)

got into my quiet palm-tree lined suburban-imitation street

where trash cans sat on corners, drunk

with hangovers

i made myself a fancy meal (w/ greens and chorizo)

i ate it and had a couple smokes

a couple tokes

and before i knew it — out you came —

a word-processer featuring 80’s movies,

obsessed with DeLoreans, whose keyboard automatically

takes me


back to poetry.


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