Exits to freeways
|
twisted like knots on
|
fingers.
|
Jewels cleaving
|
skin between
|
breasts.
|
|
Your Cadillac breathes
|
four hundred horses
|
over blue lines.
|
You are going
|
to Reseda
|
to make love
|
to a model
|
from Ohio
|
whose real name
|
you don't
|
know.
|
|
You spin
|
like the cadillac was
|
overturning down a cliff
|
on television.
|
And the radio is on
|
and the radioman is speaking
|
and the radioman says
|
women were a curse.
|
So men built Paramount
|
studios.
|
And men built Columbia
|
studios.
|
And men built
|
Los Angeles.
|
|
It is 5 am
|
and you are listening
|
to Los Angeles.
|
|
And the radioman says
|
it is a beautiful night out there!
|
And the radioman says
|
Rock and Roll lives!
|
And the radioman says
|
it is a beautiful night out there
|
in Los Angeles.
|
You live
|
in Los Angeles
|
and you are going to
|
Reseda; we are all
|
in some way or
|
another going to
|
Reseda someday
|
to die.
|
And the radioman
|
laughs because
|
the radioman fucks
|
a model too.
|
|
Gone savage
|
for teenagers with
|
automatic weapons and
|
boundless love.
|
Gone savage for
|
teenagers who are
|
aesthetically pleasing,
|
in other words,
|
fly.
|
Los Angeles beckons
|
the teenagers
|
to come to her
|
on buses;
|
Los Angeles loves
|
love.
|
|
It is 5 am
|
and you are listening
|
to Los Angeles.
|
|
I am going to
|
Los Angeles
|
to build a screenplay about
|
lovers who murder each other.
|
I am going to
|
Los Angeles
|
to see my own name on a
|
screen, five feet
|
long and luminous.
|
As the radioman says
|
it is 5AM
|
and the sun has charred
|
the other side of
|
the world and come
|
back to us
|
and painted the smoke
|
over our heads
|
an imperial violet.
|
|
It is 5 am
|
and you are listening
|
to Los Angeles.
|
|
You are listening...
|
You are listening...
|
You are listening...
|
You are listening...
|
|
...to Los Angeles.
|
|
-----------------
|
SCREENWRITER'S BLUES
|
| Soul Coughing |
