The hardened steel hammer’s head.

The body of the mute.

To be alive under the shade of a burdened branch

heavy with a million leaves.

The sun, the damned sun and its influences.

The sun-tanned leather.

The plastic skin.

The California dream.

On the first day of Autumn

the light breeze raises and bends back again

pressing the old red, white, and blue

against the border around a field of dreams.

Heading down the 118

the church

the steeple

the several hundred thousand people

passing by

racing by

weaving by

goodbye, goodbye.

I imagine each of us dying in an earthquake

the overpasses

the tunnels

the rubble

mixed in with Star Wars license plates

the Mickey Mouse parents and children

and the NotW declarations


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