I want to live in Los Angeles.
maybe somewhere in Silver Lake,
so I can go to Stories or Skylight Books,
run with Brooks, and eat breakfast
at House of Pies.
I'll buy an old truck,
so I can visit Marty
in the Marina,
go to meetings on Melrose,
then hit up the Improv
with Tom.
pick my favorites,
get to know the grocery store,
wave to the coyote neighbors
coming down from the hill.
mix it up
with comics
and poets,
for good or ill.
stare in the smoggy sky,
find the perfect words
that hurt,
at the right time
that comes for my repair.
just a couple years
to get it out of my system,
before going back to NYC
to die in peace.