Just when I thought I might have exorcised myself / of dreams of California / I awake in cold sweats / visions of a parking lot / as the sun sets

Raised on scenes of Hollywood / fire pits and red cups / as I clawed my way out of ice-cold ground / my heart bitter

My life has been so defined / by the cold / lack of love, lack of sun / my fingers blue / as they reach out for a mother’s hand

A stark contrast: California is without green / as a consequence of its sun / I am without leaves / for I have none

When will it end?

This perpetual uncertainty, toes dipping in ice water / and coming out frostbitten / remembering when I swam / and the water dried off my shoulders / before I grabbed my towel

I will never be exorcised, nor warm



Filed under Poetry

3 responses to “60.

  1. Maybe a few rays on Brighton beach this weekend?

  2. J

    I really love the dark cold feel in this post.

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