Cloistered by power
lines & steel frames
driving I-15 south
toward my Mar Vista loft.
The scent of burnt weeds,
scorched joshua trees
seep through the vents.
Oak Hills offramp
one mile ahead.
I know you’re out there,
swallowing Phelan dust.
I could crunch dirt
‘til the stake to your
mobile home appears.
Would your brother
figure why I’m there
& turn the bolt?
Michelle says you blew
another head in your ‘72
Roadster. If you convert
I’ll pick you up
at Union Station.
Sail 10 West
above the city
‘til we reach
the freeway’s edge.
Glazed with sand
& salt water, I’ll crawl
onto your breastbone. Lie
in the space between
inhales & heart beats.
As I wind down the sooted
sky of Cajon Pass
I think of you flamencoing
guitar strings, the chalk
of anti-perspirant
in your armpits, eyelashes
kissing my stomach.
How I won’t hear you dream
or smell you on the pillow.
Instead, you save yourself.
Cramped on a single
bed between splintering
wood panel & singed air.
Your crucifix
nailed above your head.
Originally published in Cider Press Review, Volume 1.
