artwork: norman j. olson
“back
to LAX”
by
Norman J. Olson
my
eyes roll across the dusty floor
through spilled coffee
and
out the door…
like a cockroach among the ladybugs,
I have to leave… I have to
become another metal mole on the 405…
I see swirls of lights that
William Blake could not have imagined
in his wildest dreams
of heaven and hell… yellow sparks
in the night and cars
everywhere but no
people… no legs or lips…
no hair or hips…
just electrons firing photons
through
red plastic and tricks of memory…
imagine Francois Boucher standing by
the freeway
with his wig blown sideways… with his big
palette
and tiny brushes painted with
road dust… imagine a horrible teal
green seeping through
the craquelure of
this oily vision
vast shards of unbroken
plate glass are mirrors and
I guess Joni Mitchell was right that
smoky
clouds
are angel hair
but where
in this tangle of
cartwheeling street lights and
spasms
have the angels
gone?
through spilled coffee
and
out the door…
like a cockroach among the ladybugs,
I have to leave… I have to
become another metal mole on the 405…
I see swirls of lights that
William Blake could not have imagined
in his wildest dreams
of heaven and hell… yellow sparks
in the night and cars
everywhere but no
people… no legs or lips…
no hair or hips…
just electrons firing photons
through
red plastic and tricks of memory…
imagine Francois Boucher standing by
the freeway
with his wig blown sideways… with his big
palette
and tiny brushes painted with
road dust… imagine a horrible teal
green seeping through
the craquelure of
this oily vision
vast shards of unbroken
plate glass are mirrors and
I guess Joni Mitchell was right that
smoky
clouds
are angel hair
but where
in this tangle of
cartwheeling street lights and
spasms
have the angels
gone?
~
first published in Ascent Aspirations
