HOLLYWOODLAND

Sitting here with the 

caffeine rush 

of a stereotypical poet

wondering if I should add some gin 

or tequila 

to the mix of 

so-called creativity…

Daydreaming of the window 

right behind my head, 

and what awaits outside of it…

what awaits down the street: 

a street of dreams (broken or otherwise engaged)…

in mt mind

I try not to 

step on any cracks 

as I make my way 

to the shadow of the sign 

that does falsely advertise…

as I arrive 

I’m kept cool 

for a moment…

I even am cool…

for a moment…

But as I look up 

I am enraged 

as I watch the ghosts 

of ancient starlets 

leap off the ghost of land

I reach out my hand…

am I hoping to save one, 

or am I hoping one will take me 

along for the ride, 

or am I just sitting 

spouting off the musings 

of a stereotypical poet 

wishing someone would 

come sit by me 

and kiss me 

before we leap from the land 

that no longer lives…

but first I turn around, 

look out the window, 

and see nothing…