I think to myself
this is the last time,
but then...
the In-N-Out by LAX,
Mark's boat, Beyond Baroque,
gorgeous post-punk rocker poets,
stumbling upon pop culture landmarks,
the Hollywood Sign from Lake Hollywood Park,
Stories Books, Skylight Books, Book Soup,
The Last Bookstore, Small World Books, Amoeba Records, etc,
Ronnie's diner, where last year, I told her I had cancer.
the Halloween sky,
the possibility of possibility,
gypsy terrain and blonde knees,
no bugs, never any humidity,
lupine flowers, feeling like, because I am west, I get extra hours,
the palm trees are narrow, a billion broken arrows,
travelin' with some stuff I left when I was a kid,
a specific hat, and the dreams I've hid.
the coyotes, the corners, the weed shops,
the ocean, the mini mountaintops,
the comedians, the musicians,
the boy inside of me that can't freakin' believe this,
it feels like the fear of right before you fall in love,
when you know it is going to happen,
but you are scared and excited, curious and worrisome,
yet it is so damn fun.
the magic, the mayhem, the memories made by movies,
la lengua tacos that are life-changing delicious,
all washed down with a Mexican coke and hope,
I have never found the heart of this place,
but I am starting to think it has as many hearts,
as it has miles and cars, surprises and stars,
and maybe if I lived here I would feel different,
but I doubt it.
...every time I leave Los Angeles,
I immediately ask myself
when can I return?