Orange County


the extinct river turned walled swale
has the beginnings of wilderness in it
birds, frightened by my passing, wail
to each other in the deep shadow
a chittering here, and then a cry low
among the mud ponds and detritus
with plants scattered in the rubble
the density under the dull orange glow
allowing enough morbid semblance of light
to decompose their sleep drained night

the clipped trees with white-washed trunks
perfectly spaced along the central strip
lined by numbered edificial building
with such tenants as FDIC and microsoft
occupying half the twenty stories each
the midnight hum of power deafening
as an anonymous gray accusation
computers calculating profit and loss
while software elements sleep it off at home
and security forces sip from styrofoam

returning to my hotel keep
passing under the world's limp flags
fanfareless in the bellhop's eyes
I rise exposed in the glass cage
to the sniper's crosshair bullet
like some harrison ford pursuit
until the scene shifts to a toilet
swirling red water diced up body parts
gene hackman playing tenor sax
in a seedy movie house in sao paulo

fitful dream continued, I awake shocked
at the mute plateglass landscape
the midmorning gray of LA
monotone cartesian desert broken only
by the headlights of single drivers
bent over wheels of self-importance
like conscious rocks from a karmic sling
hurtling past history into padded cemeteries
suburbs, business towers, parking lots
while blasted birds hide in the trees
await the humming solace of orange nights.