i. Lax Dog Days
“The earth…had entered the phase when cars wear out
more quickly than the soles of shoes.”
– Italo Calvino, The Daughters Of The Moon
Traffic snarled front of a bus stop near LAX, I hear chuffing sounds
from a brooding Van Gogh sunburst vacancy whose pincered fingers pick
imagined bugs out of an absent left ear while euuing crowds hector
the young woman in some sort of high-pitched heat likely No comprender.
Off in the crabgrass, Messr. picks at hair lice, scratches brindled scalp scabs.
ii. Prostate Reveries
One of those smogged-in drizzly days missing the 405 interchange,
a fraught evening commute sours on the Harbor Freeway cloverleaf.
I panic because Sweetie forgot to pack my bladder medicines.
Everyone’s pissed when a hearse cuts us off at Cemetery exit.
iii.Mister Lonelyhearts By Way Of Nathanael West Et. Al.
“Driven by a desperate hunger to the arms of a neon light,
the heart is a lonely hunter when there’s no sign of love in sight!”
― Carson McCullers, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter
Mini Cooper a crushed meringue just ahead of my steel blimp, I’m prey
to day-glo Sgt. Peppers deployed all over Hollywood’s on-ramp.
Caught behind the toy car, windows up to avoid street pagans’ buckets,
surrounding gawkers roll his/hers down to drop in cash contributions
no matter panhandlers’ apparent cause. Which makes me the smug alien
among lifeforms who can fall in love with everyone a little bit.