LA Poetry

7 Mar

I just found out that LA has a poet laureate for the first time: Eloise Klein Healy. And reading her poems certainly haven’t lessened the LA wanderlust I’ve been feeling lately. Pretty, crazy city. I miss you, faults and all.

Los Angeles from the Hollywood Hills

Entries: LA Log


The stars shine all day
through my scalp
five foot three inches into space
called atmosphere
or one of the ways to understand a novel.

At this address
a bougainvillea lifts her curls
and kisses a Santa Ana with her mouth open
right on its blueblue skies.

I like to ride the fast lane
es muy caliente
and under me a red chile siren
pepper peppers Alvarado with cop sauce
as I cross.

I know I know
I’m dying a little faster of Los Angeles
but I suck in a piece of it anyway,
sing it out in little puffs
about twenty times altogether
like a bunch of cheerleaders
yelling down the freeway in a bus.

Coiling out to Malibu
on a copper strand,
my sunglasses shine
like two westbound storefronts
open to the scenery business.

I never owned a map
to the stars’ homes
but I sent to JPL
for 8×10 glossies of Mars
to stick up around my mirror.

I note the traffic patterns
of two Ring-billed gulls
flying the Santa Monica Freeway,
pale boomerangs
arching across their backs
as they exit up.

Smooching In The Shadows Under The Double Moon


One Response to “LA Poetry”

  1. Beach Huts & Pine Woods March 7, 2013 at 7:25 am #

    I feel the same!

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