Tale of the Angels
Oh quiet, still morning sun,
with impulsiveness of a loaded gun,
whose streets warm out City of Angels.
It’s light baking our kingdom streets,
burning the flesh of the upper class,
whose finest silks and cloth,
cannot black the suns mighty rays.
But through this mecca of pollution and cement,
lie the veins, the pulse of our metropolis:
The sultry, buxom blondes of shopping malls,
The suburban royalty in their fancy cars,
The drunken punks on Melrose,
The soft weeping of Silver Lake,
The bubbling, vomiting shores of Malibu,
Then then, sleeping softly still is our valley.
Those soaring heights of hillside that shields us from the cold.
Oh yes, our beloved valley,
the valley smoldered by the heat,
brush and trees baking in the filtered sky.
Here, down in the valley,
lay two sleepy-eyed lovers,
clutching, tugging ‘neath the covers,
in that smoggy dense, atmosphere,
whose cement streets are baking here,
cracking, drying, fading in the sun.
The telephone wires come undone,
spiraling, sparking, wavering eclectic,
but no one notices — except for them.
Although they see those electric gashes,
so bright and deadly as it slashes,
they do nothing but watch and wait.
As the new days comes they contemplate,
if either they will eat or fuck or die or sleep…
’till the sun sets again at their Hollywood keep.
For our sleepy-eyed lovers are not knights,
nor players nor jests,
nor merchants or beasts,
nor gypsies or thieves,
nor even paupers whose stench scares the rich away.
But simple, quiet, near-nameless lovers.
Filled with cocaine dreams of grandeur,
sigh, crying, prying for more,
days without sedation were a bore.
They were ‘dreamers’ these two,
dreaming of frothy, chilled brew,
a beverage they could hardly afford,
even though they had riches stored.
Oh lovely silver screen sirens ancestors that left us gold!
So much they thought they wouldn’t have to be told,
how to spend it,
how to wage those miles of gold!
But miles turns to yards, and yards to feet,
then feet to inches… ’till they couldn’t eat.
But put that stuff up their nose instead.
It washed their worries away,
cleansed their minds of though,
silenced the incessant pangs of hunger.
But then,
it stripped the light from their eyes,
tore the fat and muscle from their bones,
left them walking fates of sallow flesh…
I’ve heard many say “Oh, how the mighty fall”
I suppose that would be true of these two.
Sons and daughters of silver screen sire
are not immune to our city’s desire
to suck you in, take you under!
A way out of this place would cumber…
But these two now nameless lovers,
lying ‘neath those sire bought covers,
in that electric, swirling cable atmosphere,
whose final sparks are dying here.
The sky turns shades of pink, fuchsia by the sun.
Then slowly… their arms come undone,
life passes from their kissing lips,
friction pauses between their hips.
As morning comes, yet another day
with their lives they had to pay,
for those cocaine dreams of grandeur.
Her savage seduction you must endure.
She is a city of sin , our city of Angels,
She’ll make you come undone.
this is my favorite