Grӕy

In the rare Los Angeles rain

The mist falling faintly on the gray city

The roads charging blindly

And I don’t want to go home

To the barrage of incessant questions

I am Missing You.

Afraid to let go of my memories of you

because I did

telling the daughter of a Mexican druglord

the same thing;

from the ripped up fabric of the bottom of my heart

You have to let go.

The words ricochet off of the retaining walls

Back into the car

Snapping my head back

Like the bullet I cannot seem to place

The helicopters boom

Charging into the skyline as vultures seeking carrion

The gray streets holding stagnant to the floodplain of concrete and humans

The gray infesting everything

How I wish I had a little of your color in my life

To brighten up this bland sterile place

How I wish I did not have to live

with the decisions that we agreed on

So many years ago in that gray room with those grey people

  How I wish.

The roads curve and buckle and the perpetual disneyland of LA

Plays itself out repeatedly, incessantly

Thinking of the falcon-faced women of my current situation

How flatly they look at me as If I were another gray statue

Melted from acid rain, with pigeon filth

Carved by some common sculptor

If only they could see my true form, in color

Lacking the luminosity that we once shared

Their gaze is not the blooming snapdragons

of intoxication

it deserves a cold place like this

for the insignificant to enrapture themselves

in the shroud of, blah-

as the animus falls down emasculated in a field of stone

and the cars charge forward all the same

the money flitters off  to who-cares-where…

at a steady pace  in this bland parade

where I am missing you.

So far from the warm summers of our dogs, and our cat tranquilizers, and our futurama

All of it lapped up by that rabid hound

In the loud stone swamp

that rolled it up in the cacophony

of the man I used to be

the mountain trails that we put the deft boot of our conquests to, overgrow

like the gardens we warped into monuments

 of that fluorescent pink substance

we lit this bland nowhere with

after all this time

it is unfortunate that on this grey, monotonous day

I am missing you.

because it does'nt reflect you at all

just what you became with me