"Out of Place in L.A."

I am trying to make sense of it all,
but it refuses to cooperate. On the streets of Los Angeles,
you are admonished by the Law to drive carefully, patiently,
and obediently. But in spite of your responsible driving-habits,
you still wind up getting hit by some careless driver who
runs a red light at seventy while dialing a cell'-phone or
turns from the wrong lane while eating a cheeseburger or
cuts you off without signaling and then slams on the brakes or
broadsides you while trying to put on make-up.
Multiply these negligent drivers and their pedestrian cousins by several million,
and you suddenly start to wonder why L.A. still exists.
And this overpriced, overpopulated nightmare vents her worst anger
on the streets, drivers and pedestrians alike going out of their way
to be rude to each other, constantly seeking vengeance against everyone
for merely being here, in the same crowded place, at the same congested time.
Everyone wants to move to Los Angeles, but no one wants to leave,
and everyone wants to drive their own vehicle.
They all have their reasons for being here
(i.e. Hollywood, the weather, the money, and so on),
none of which fills their own spiritual void, their own true sense of purpose.
And as such, they are all imbalanced and out of place
while they are here. And all they have to show for themselves
is that they are here, and as such, they spiritually cannot help but
viciously hate both themselves and each other
on the streets of Los Angeles, streets that can no longer bear
their huddled masses yearning to breathe free.


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