Los Angeles smells like
Mexican ladies using laundry soap
Homeless men sifting through the county landfill
White women in well-lit homes rubbing their naked loins in lavender.
Los Angeles feels like
It’s about to rain but holds out on you indef
A continual turf-war for Black Gorilla Family and 18th Street
An island of fools, trapped inside an outdoor prison unable to leave
A financial vice-grip around your throat, your life, your belief in god
Los Angeles continues like
You don’t mind and you don’t matter
City Politicians are only in it for themselves
Local Law Enforcement would rather shoot you first and forget to ask questions later.
Los Angeles is divided like
Inmates are in prison
First white, then brown, then black, then yellow
Those with money and those with money
The old waiting to die and the young waiting to be raped
Los Angeles smells like
A graveyard
Smog during rush-hour traffic
Tears down a mother’s cheek
A cage at the pound that once held a frightened dog
Contraband Marriage, traveling along the hemline of loving after incarceration, is a love story written in lyric and free form, set in reality with a different ever after.
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