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| august 21-2003 |
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| the freeway ends 1 mile |
| and starts again |
| weaving north |
| his inability to make decisions |
| was compounded by a full |
| tank and not enough time |
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| malibu, ca |
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| august 16-2003 |
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| he read about the world |
| from a stack of newspapers |
| on the floor of 7-11 |
| searching the headlines |
| and the tabloid covers |
he felt even more out
of touch
then usual |
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| marina del rey, ca |
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| august 15-2003 |
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| living in the vacuum |
| of daily ritual |
| following the routine |
| sharpening the pencil |
| trying to see beyond |
| the dashboard haze |
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| los angeles, ca |
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| august 12-2003 |
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| floating above the city |
| untied to the urban grid |
| overlooking the life below |
| content in its aloofness |
| he was drawn here despite the art |
to sit in the blinding
light
and view the horizon |
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| los angeles, ca |
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| august 9 -2003 |
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| standing anonymous in a crowd |
| looking into the blank
faces |
| of strangers |
| hearing cell phone conversations |
| reverberate in his ear |
| endless words with no
meaning |
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| los angeles, ca |
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| august 7 -2003 |
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| following the freeways |
| east west across town |
| watching the rooftops |
| and billboards |
| for a sense of the city |
| while traffic sits |
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| los angeles, ca |
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| august 5 -2003 |
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| she was always looking up |
| as if waiting for something
to appear |
| besides police helicopters and jet
contrails |
| she watched the tops of buildings
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| for a glimpse of a blue sky |
| through the white haze |
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| los angeles, ca |
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| august 3 -2003 |
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| he kept running |
| the conversation back
in his head |
| looking for lost meanings |
| or something he should have said |
| until the light turned green |
| and the drivers got hostile |
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| los angeles, ca |
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