The first light, the most silent and sacred
Descends upon the tents in Los Angeles mall
Into eyes where all they have left is receiving.
Some prepare to break camp, others briskly sweep.
A blonde in a blue dress sleeps on the concrete.
A full shopping cart is locked to the bike rack.
The men here pop from nowhere, disappear in clouds of smoke
Though they look hard at me before they go.
Their eyes see instantly inside my mental games.
I am, like all who seek out the invisible, disappointing.
I, too, look away, though with Biker Lawyer eagle
Compassionate eyes, looking for some other prey.
The victim scripts were not even received by me —
The players are unknown, the places barely heard of
And time has long since stopped existing here.
A different stone chair to sleep in at mid-day is a respite.
If I have the audacity to show, can I at least not see?
As if to agree, the graffiti just says "fuck you" now.
Even the law firms are gone, the banks run on algorithms.
Why query the Delphi, Golden Boy Wilshire
And Sweet Lady Jane? No one knows what doesn't concern them.
Every eye I look into is the same: You don't understand,
Whether the bar fly bag lady with an oxygen tube
Or the acid casualty who just sits over Grand with a box.
I hear them talking, indistinguishable from any
Reasonably informed fools to the global play —
Tho I don't know who Pole Austin is, or why he wears furs.
Some women take over the Mission like it was a church
While some just glare out of sight, perhaps to free their minds
Of other people, who they so desperately need
It seems their absence is the only comfort within reach.
Giving even that, with my eyes, is just too hard,
The role of staying outside too honorable to ignore.
