The dead of L.A.

(I found one of my mom's old notebooks from the eighties.  her handwriting is atrocious but I'm transcribing her poetry)

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Pinched and twisted

In the dead of L.A. –

Lost and more lost, she wanders,

Not one word exchanged or offered-

Bury and buy

Again + again

He exits

Dripping gold

Silent and dripping indifference

Peripheral vision

Revealed him

Not to her. 

Sheer wonder in

Compromise .

He’s glowing rays

Of hate, death.

Could his meaning have been

Tender curiousity?

The air is cool

The sky is late

The sidewalks are covered in

Pages from desk calendars

You (we) tread over days and days

Of last year

In which something happened – something –

Lived and died –

Putting me in a bleak park –

Another lost day and dead years

And dear but dead l.a.

December 28 1989