Los Angeles: May, 2013

I
It is a slapdash city thrown together with an eye for cacophony
Somehow it still lures lost souls and lonely hearts year after year
They come from farm towns and sepia hollows dreaming of glitter and magic
Los Angles is like a cheap whore trying to make the best of herself
Los Angles is like a cheap whore putting her best face forward
Deep down that golden heart is tarnished and wearing thin

Ancient palm trees mingle with thumbprints of commerce and fast food
So many signs in so many languages and so many colors
They are urban lilies – the kind only Georgia O’Keeffe could have imagined

The history is as thin as the celluloid it is printed on – still the people come
Still they are seduced by the slapdash whore sleeping fitfully on the beach

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