City of Angels

A Poem


To drive, endlessly.


Look at the sky.

It’s so orange.

Why is it so orange?


To drive, endlessly.


Into the fire,

The hills that are boiling;

The end that is nearing.


To drive, endlessly.


Like a lone coyote, slinking

Through the desert

As night winds howl.


To drive, endlessly.


North. 

As North as you can go.

So the fire doesn’t reach you so quickly.


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