L.A.

And so…

I’m writing in L.A.
Preserving the legends of our youth.
Assuring us a place in history
That no one will care to read.

We sit on this balcony
High above our dreams
Watching cars with their unnecessary noise
Swim quickly by.

There are whispers of our deepest fantasies in the linings
Of the dull hum that is city life.

We were there.

Wayward souls gathered around the Excitement
That haunts the spirits of pioneers.

A generation lost in change.

Falling in a city of fallen angels

We watched with divine voyeurism
A scene from life made a parable of lies.
Softening implications of need with cheep beer.

We could’ve done that—became heroes…
But we smoked cigarettes instead.

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About Universal Shift

I am the Sonata Unusual. I coat myself with some obtuse angle too far below zero to become any warmer. I create motivation, activate schemas, moisten gardens with scents of natural honeydew. Construct this meaning, you sleepy flock. Silence your singing—despairing contortions out of tune. Shatter the brittle butterfly glass with your hideous wailing. I am born of my god’s imagination. When I die I shall meet him. For there are many things to discuss over tea…or scotch.

Posted on December 7, 2011, in Author, Fiction, poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

  1. I love this! You have a way with words.

  2. “There are whispers of our deepest fantasies in the linings
    Of the dull hum that is city life.”

    Love that. Immensely.

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