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Comming to Cali
dusk on the verandah
cigarette smoke exhales
outside the terrace, over the hill
the city spreads out hopeful and dead
from endless sparkling lights
seen from overhead
cars like insects
crawling down roads
and into empty parking lots
her voice comes on softly
pleads, telling you not to go
outside the moon cries
inside the walls surround the pictures
and sink away, white
nothing in from the satellites
nothing on TV
forgot the backseat, with glowing leather
forgot the movies on the screen, sound turned off
sitting at tables, bodies thrusting
speaking secret words
feel smooth, under highway
the warm feeling of enclosure
tucked in blankets overhead
everything seems less unsure
lying in bed could feel the glare from the computer screen
watching over me
calling me out
on streets seemed wet with the coming dawn
light potential, future memories of sleep
but not tonight
someplace we’ve never gone
on boats, duck down and squeeze into the carpeted tube
furiously kissing
as above the string of lamps illuminate the neon
and drinks, stumbling overboard
revealed the entrance, thin as a line
but below in the boat it’s so dark and exciting
out here the neon only reflects on the water
where he thrashes
and we slowly pass through drunkenness
stars below us
other ships, seen the bodies dark against shinning backdrops
and back in the apartment
with the buildings curving out to replace the sky
she squirms and moves the sheets
black hair reflected in the mirrors above
youth seems gone
night seems here
helicopters pass overhead
dodging the palm trees
seen the highway, as it goes off ceaselessly
over the water
back home.
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