Drunk At Window Overlooking Blvd.

Written summer '07, while I was working at a music magazine in West Hollywood. I grew up in the boondocks & beach towns of the Central Coast, so this was my first immersion in urban existence. Angels and demons; a love-hate relationship with L.A.

Death is a rock in my shoe.

Exhaust fumes perfume air with nightmares.

The seductive billboard of freedom has broken legs,

lying prostrate in the junkyard,

a supper club for gathering lizards and dried foliage.

 

Los Angeles, you smell like a rusted trombone;

monkeys nurse espressos in your syringe dens.

One day your petroleum odor will murder me, good mistress, 

With a last crack of the whip;

Sangre! Esta muerto. (Blood! Is dead.)

 

You feed me spicy murky black beans,

You breathe low Cabernet and choke optical nerves,

You are as blind as a speeding limousine,

You sell oxygen at bars, acoustically tuned martinis

To keep your bewildered pets on their feet.

 

There are so few angels in your heaven.

Unfaithful lovers creep through your veins like mud.

I will sing songs of your supermarkets;

lyrics that sizzle in the pan, dripping with accidental carnage.

I will hang my shoes by their laces

from your many telephone wires.

 

I cannot leave you, mistress.

You are a living tattoo,

and you steal my sleep like thunder.

Reviews

[Wildecat]

A vey nice write, a definite pleasure to read your poetry.

[Justin Tobey]

You have some interesting ideas in this poem. I felt rather disoriented, which I assume was the idea, as the word drunk was part of the title. : ) It's interesting that the character seems to absolutely loathe the city, but can't seem to leave it. I also liked your word choices in the line:

"Los Angeles, you smell like a rusted trombone."

I've been there many times on trips to the airport, and that's a wonderful way of describing it. You can practically feel the petroleum-induced headache. :D Good job!

[Jessica L Auster]

I fell in love with your word choice.

[intangible_soul]

"Los Angeles, you smell like a rusted trombone;"

Ha ha! Oh yes, I know this smell. And since I was born and raised not far from that city, yes, I know what you mean.

I loved the scathing nature of this poem. Very nice write!