City of Lost Angels

Standing at the corner of Fairfax and Venice. Hoodie down. Ears plugged loud. Erykah’s singin’ about a Window Seat. Nodding my head in time with the hand claps. Bilal just left me. Reminding me that I was his Soul Sista.

As I stand here waiting for yet another bus, this time headed west. I wonder if I am the only angel flying out here with clipped wings. Too much East coast soul in my strut. Vocab on lock. I’m much too heavy for the lightweights. Van makes my crooked smile slight with Seconds of Pleasure. Brooklyn girls. Life’s twirl.

LA streets smell of faded dreams and burnt meat. Ghost walking among the greats who use to light the boulevard. Bus is here. Still chasing Baldwin


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