Ode to L.A.

A poem written while visiting some friends out in Los Angeles. I walked through the downtown area and was inspired.

The city is a living being of cars and tactical consuming.

One shall enter, not leaving until the last penny is spent on your food consumption.

Many things exist,

But for man what he needs most is a good coat,

Protection from the winter air,

They all must be good blokes in the end and it's not fair.

They suffer the pitfalls of the city,

Lead a life of the kind without pity.

Really,

Where did we go wrong not anticipating that a strong government would only grow stronger.

Until it goes pop the pops will bring their kids to shop for clothes,

Bop it, 

Twist it,

Pull it.

It comes out the same no matter what course of action you do to it.

It's easily processable,

Conveniently accessible,

Therefore it must be testable

A living testament to the heaven sent government.

Where we went?

We don't know all we've spent.

Do we spend in time units?

We've only spent our time cruising in the city full of homeless peasants.

A city dominated by an omnipresent fake economy with droughts,

Good must be present,

Where there's the angels,

There's preachers,

The devil's,

Beseechers.

People yelling in the street,

Bewitched drug users.

Skid Row needle abusers,

Don't confuse is with them losers,

We've got our Louis Vuitton,

Fendi wallets and sun-

Glasses and houses at the top of the hill.

No one can touch us but we still need our protection so no one will.

Big humble abodes to house us,

And many things to pronounce us as top notch.

With big watches and binoculars we watch the time pass past our ocular nerves.

With traffic bad enough to make you change lanes and swerve,

We constantly pay high taxes to live like the Verve,

It's the bitter sweet symphony of reality that puts us on the verge,

So we splurge not being able to resist the urge.

Like the bands that pay royalties just to earn.

And we still get cremated and placed in urns.

Waiting for the world to turn,

In order that we get our turns,

15 seconds of fame as predicted Warhol,

Now Hollywood turns to films to turn them out.

Thousands of actors move about,

Without a job.

Uber provides and robs,

And Robert only has one income,

One job.

His big break will come,

One big income tax check with children,

More than one.

And more to come.

Reviews

[FGFRANKLIN]

What a cool and interesting read on the City of Angels. It reads like some of the old beat poets. I really got a great travel vibe from it. Well done, I enjoyed.

[Phillip Wolke]

That's great feedback I'm humbled to be able to express like some of my favorite poetry. I'm glad that you enjoyed the poem!