los angeles will always be an unfinished poem

          (i have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth – umberto eco)

 

the sidewalks and the store fronts and the flashing neon lights

are where i roam alone but not on almost every night

the past is cast yet fading fast, poetry still lingers

i pay the cost for being lost, liquefied dead ringer

every cliché that you can say, self-destructive artist

there’s no denying what we sow we will one day harvest

 

i can’t make sense of recompense, order in the chaos

formulas and dogmas have never soothed when there is loss

i’m told that all the fault is mine, ignoring solutions

all i see in the define is unpaid prostitution

for every point has counter-points there are no absolutes

which leaves you vain in your refrain of needing to refute

 

the beach is there so why not share the sunshine and the breeze

there’s nothing wrong in sing-alongs that slide you into ease

l.a. has its taco trucks and tasty tidbit trailers

my poetry is just for me not success or failure

so let me walk these streets at night without intervention

reality is five senses and of your invention

 

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