6.30.17

i miss Hollywood

i miss being yelled at by strangers

and hikes through canyons thronged with trash

and little dogs yapping like the animate turds of coyotes

and the coyotes themselves,

allusive with attentive eyes

staring wonderfully at all the deadbeats traipsing up and down the hills at 2pm on a Wednesday, like

tarnations,

don’t you fuckers work?

i remember when (the coyotes say)

people risked their lives to touch the very dirty of this land that your poodle is pissing on,

they fought to defend it and buried their dead

beneath what is now a tattoo parlor across from that Mexican joint on Sunset and La Cienega with the greatest flautas in the world.