City of Angels

 Out too early, in too late,

Scars that run for miles.

Much too much to mend,

Hidden behind pressed shirts/sunglasses.

Yesterday’s sins buried in the grass,

The city gleams, pristine,

As if nothing’s ever happened.

The Poll Waltz

“Freedom isn’t free,” they say,

We know,

Freedom was built on the backs of our ancestors,

With the tears of our foremothers,

The blood of our brothers.

Don’t tell us how to be,

Don’t tell us what to believe,

Don’t speak,

Just listen.

Fear that what little freedom we have suffered for will be stripped away.

Think, don’t just follow suit.

Photo: Alexis Micu 📷

Art: Jasper Johns (Courtesy of The Broad Museum)

City Asleep

City asleep

Falls, triumphs melting into dreams

Luna sheds her everlasting light

Bathing us in glory, bathing us in the night


some things forged, meant to fade

morning light washes the slate