the ending ends at the entrance

i was riding the wind without any wheels

in los angeles nothing is real

but what we are told to feel

 

in line with the concubines

          i’ve never been chosen

but in hollywood no one’s a virgin

and almost all have had it in the ass

 

too crass?

 

try a rundown rented room

          needles strewn

          and scattered

like the dreams that are shattered

          wardrobe in tatters

 

i use to write with an eye on the prize

          in holy hollywood size matters

i had to sleep with so many women

          to get this role

now i extol

that other life forms

are not searching their skies for us

 

their ship is a bus

with a multicolored coat

left over from the sixties

 

you can find a temple just for pixies

          somewhere in this city

 

you cry, i pity

then realize i’m looking in a mirror

truth is not clearer

i prefer the haze of lies

sincere goodbyes

when the whole time we were talking

i was trying to remember your name

you’re a speed bump on my road to fame

i’m only interested if you’re the one in the tollbooth

and grant me access

you make me matter so you matter

 

cappuccinos and chatter

make me relevant

where money is spent

          without being earned

 

cigarettes burn

you feign concern

indignant at my intoxication

 

in therapy no one can hear you scream

and the therapist is sworn to secrecy

 

there’s also a sea

well, actually, an ocean

its proximity

also make us relevant

 

i was born here

the sun shining on santa monica

now transplanted harmonicas

lead us over the cliffs by the pier

 

thin and veneer

indecent exposure

 

everyone obsessing over obsessions

i obsess over oscillating obfuscation

          straight to castration

and the peace of knowing

the mind is not real

 

***