Helicopter blades chop through arid air
sirens fill space off in the distance.
Somewhere, someone still believes
the promise of prosperity
the American dream
but not much really lives in Lost Angeles
**** roaches and coyotes.
Police spotlights eye-ing up dilapidated
housing developments like a ***** show.
Cops driving slow on streets
that form lines like dope trails
like they're looking for crack
on skid row
or *****
on Hollywood Boulevard
or someone to talk to
on the last train to Union Station.
Helicopter blades chop through arid air
sirens fill space off in the distance.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 9:29 PM UTC
Helicopter blades chop through arid air
sirens fill space off in the distance.
Somewhere, someone still believes
the promise of prosperity
the American dream
but not much really lives in Lost Angeles
**** roaches and coyotes.
Police spotlights eye-ing up dilapidated
housing developments like a ***** show.
Cops driving slow on streets
that form lines like dope trails
like they're looking for crack
on skid row
or *****
on Hollywood Boulevard
or someone to talk to
on the last train to Union Station.
Helicopter blades chop through arid air
sirens fill space off in the distance.
I wrote this during a hard time living in Los Angeles. The city can drive you crazy. It's full of spirits and vibes and authority. It's a dizzying experience and sometimes you feel lost.
Request permission to use this poem