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Things I've Learned in California, a Poem
People here try to repel wildlife.
I think they do.
California is peopled with fake rocks,
like some sort of Oompa Loompa land.
Gophers are much smaller than marmots.
From time to time, a merchant wind
rises along the lantana, releasing dust devils-
I wait for the land to speak to me;
every land has a voice...
Nothing is free except poop bags for your dog,
but only if you steal them from the better areas.
(I feel too guilty for this infraction!)
Churchgoers show lots of skin, but seldom smile.
People strive to look good, while not actually being good,
and being fat,(me) is worse than being a cracked out,
lying, vicious (yet thin) thief.
Gazanias, travelers from a distant land too,
open and close- earth sea anemones,
palms rustle, languid hula dancers as the aspect
from Hasley Canyon uncovers layer upon layer
of hills, a dreamy Kabuki, Japanese blue, receding,
Bad things can happen very quickly here, and too many
kindnesses, half given, money involved, corrode the soul.
Every one has problems.
Everyone is in a hurry.
Everyone is a hustler, a scammer..... almost
No one cares. Really.
At night, rosmary, crushed underfoot releases a
I've looked at clouds arranged in perfect stripes;
a thing I've never seen-
or the ribs of a massive beast
that swallowed me almost whole;
these forlorn bones
can still look