Poet Tree

Mangy-ass Angelinos roll in downhill after dark, to do their own thing while no one’s looking, a rendezvous of the senses to hang no ponga ...

Film crews are the new donut loiterers, taking over for the PD, who are here too. This patch of cactus farms and grape acreage, neither a th...

The Costa Mesa Grange, old Cali-style white, rumpriding muckraking wobbly-rousing revival hall style by the side of Victoria, no one ever th...

Casey Stengel chewed through the Popol Vuh like Red Man tobacco, as if its Rosetta Stone would unlock the mysteries of the Mets batting orde...

The word “yankee” has been variously (and mostly derogatorily) used to signify “New Englander,” “northerner” or “American,” but it was coine...

The kleptocrat plutocrats and the permanent bureaucrats, the pundits and the pharmacists, the political parties and the hangover debt, the c...

5 o’clock commuters freed to green throng across the cross-walk, like the flight of pigeons over a vent except the faces, seen outside the h...

In Tudor City everyone’s a diplomat, with badges and plates to prove it. They’re insatiable in their untranslatable languages, wires to thei...

It’s considered impolite in New York City to look at myself on the streets. One must look askew, with deep focus an inch in front of the eye...