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Click hereMine has receded, the way
the San Gabriel Mountains have gone black
beyond my window. The only light
remaining is this orange wash
the sodium vapor lamps
flood over the parking lot. The light
tints the few cars left a kind of odd
off-white, as if they were weary ghosts
gathered to witness my destruction.
Your car is missing, of course. I am sorry
you finally tired of fucking me, that I tired,
finally, of fucking you,
that we couldn't find anything
less subject to erosion than sex to hold ourselves
together. Although I cannot wish you well,
I hope we both find our way to ease.
I like the poem. I'm distracted by the fact that I live near the San Gabriel Mountains.