the helicopter overhead,
and the smell of hobo urine,
the breeze and the jasmine front lawns,
the cold brew and the sativa
settle in for a quiet Sunday in West Hollywood.
may I'll go to the record shop,
maybe I will head to the beach for EDM brunch,
maybe I will get a tattoo to remember
this small, glorious attempt forever,
or maybe I will do nothing
but walk in the about-time sun
and just live in this fading moment
for the time it exists and then move on.
I'd love to live in this moment,
make a life in it, meet the gay neighbors,
make the coffee shop my spot,
get a bike, move my kid here,
and pretend away the days.