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A B Perales
Poems
Mar 2016
Lost Are The Angels
Another day invaded my space in the form of
warm sun rays burning through
my resin stained curtains.
Outside the city awakes town
by concrete laden town until the
whole of the city all hums as one.
Along the edge of the world the Pacific
sits as calm and still as that thick brown
layer of pollution above our heads.
The smell of baked bread makes its way up
the graffiti dressed alley ways and past the
cheap pill box apartment buildings.
The boiling pots of crab send a unseen
signal all throughout this Port side Gem of a town.
The air is once again filled with
diesel and unleaded gas fumes
as the mass grows larger high above our heads.
Someone forgot to separate the
waters from the waters.
Again rain falls as hail somewhere
in the opened sea.
Men and their machines chew up the
highways in both directions.
Some cursing into the wind and others
singing along with some God awful country song.
Cities aren't made to last forever
even Rome had to die in order to be.
I could turn my back on them all and
not miss a beat.
It's the city itself
The city full of Lost Angels, Has Beens, ******
and Godless Gangsters
that won't let me go.
Written by
A B Perales
San Pedro Ca.
(San Pedro Ca.)
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Terry Collett
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