a little lonely city
called L A
lives only by the light
slowly dies
by crying cop lights
and it goes back
to criminals
and drug rapists.

hundred feet wide streets
getting  longer
for the destination
with a chat with a tree
or an old farmer
asking for money
to drink a cup
of rich folks
with plastic smiles
and the hills
painted gold
hiding the trash left by the ones who claimed
to have conquered it all.

the city of dying angles
and the further cities hiding
under palm trees.

Alone they decay.