10/6/09 9:05 PM
The sun has an orgasm across the valley
as Pasadena opens up in front of me,
the Suicide Bridge pushing an arm out
of green sleeves, orange blossoms keening
after a mid-spring heatwave,
the Rose Bowl yawning in a ravine.
It is not enough to love the one you love,
to drive towards the ocean just to fall
into bed with them, then return home
alone, drowsy from no sleep and sex in a strange bed,
the 101 stretching herself East towards
black rocks and tarantulas of Nevada.
Down towards the unilateral mirage of water,
the Salton Sea groans in her deadwood hammock.
On a map, California looks like she’s hugging the continent
and Nevada is leaning in for a deep kiss.
She is tentative, he is a sharp-tongued,
diamond-studded menace, kissing her
and at the same time, pushing her into the ocean.
this is
ReplyDeletesimply wonderful;
especially to us
who know and love
Pasadena (and also
the rest of the west).
Suicide Bridge was
and still is
a favorite
haunt!
thank you
for sharing it
with us.
noxy.