The Fire of Los Angeles

Waking up from yesterday.

The fire from the East has come.
In sickled rays of golden light
We bathe our weary, whitened skin.
We pledge allegiance to the Zen.

Upend the endless neverending
Pilgrimage into the Sun.
For what it's worth we're seeing red.
To Mobius we bow our heads.

Now what was that you asked of us
Before the city fell to flame?
The air betwixt your lips, it died
Before those pillars raped the sky.

Author's Note

The Sun is the same in a relative way.

Reviews

[Whispering Aspen]

This is a very thought provoking poem. It gives me a sense of calm I would associate with total release of senses, the perfect calm of walking into the face of death knowingly and acceptingly. I don't know if you refer to the mathematician or the band, but I suppose when I go back and read it again (and I will) that I can paint both images into it one at a time and see where it takes me, right? Anyway I enjoyed reading it, and would like to take more time later to soak it in one more time. Thanks for sharing this.

[Mitchell J.U.]

I absolutely love it! The imagery! The cry of cleansing destruction! BRAVO

[W.k.kortas]

Reminiscent of the painting "The Burning of Los Angeles" from The Day Of The Locust. Has the feel, not unlike West's novel, of the fin-de-siecle air of an entire group of people pursuing a false dream or false idols. The detachment of the tone works nicely, much better than fire and brimstone and a raft of exclamation points would be. A very impressive piece of writing.