Rolling around in a rented Chevy Malibu
in this city of contrasts
with endless exciting and terrifying things
around every lying corner to the left
where everyone will tell you with a wink
that the moon never sets in LA
but I've burnt my tongue on this journey, too.
The tops of the palm trees spin
mixing the fog with nostalgia
while ignoring the future
or at least lying to ourselves about it.
Los Angeles has the bumpiest roads
and I am practicing my coffin pose
in the shotgun seat while searching the horizon
which is entertaining and terrifying,
the end and the beginning.
Los Angeles is a lady that always
leaves me wanting more;
ghosted by a city
full of funky blues
for all squares, creeps,
and cornballs.
They torture themselves
with shame and pride,
and me with time clocks
and unattainable ambition.
They get so they believe the lies
of their own hired liars,
bug themselves with their own slogans,
drag themselves over miles of broken iPhones.
I have never found this place's heart
but it is not for lack of looking
for lying is a listener's issue
so open your eyes
to the new pollution
that is wasting precious time
while telling yourself you're special.