Sunset Blur
Hands rough as old rocks
Heart cold as a frozen sidewalk
Slippery as lice
Big butt
Short shorts
Large breasts
Low top
Who am I?
Who are you?
Can you be true?
Or am I a huge fool
Lost in the Tinseltown swirl
My L,A, girl
Born in Beverly Hills
All the skills and frills
She knows blow jobs
Not slow sobs
Betting on the material
Scaling the superficial
Climbing the ethereal
She took what I gave
Gave what I took
Like Captain Hook
Earning her living giving phone sez
Big fan of money and the fashion hex
I hated to love her next
Without Children
My art is my child
I keep telling myself
To be free
When in fact I missed
The most important moments in life to
Hard deadlines and forsaken suicides
I broke my sanity on bloody glass and
Windows black
Lost my 42 years of virginity to a L.A. Street urchin
Who hated her life but loved sex
Splattered my idealism on a Store and Factory
In a city where nothing shimmers or grooves
On an industry spread so far apart that my children
Would have no fingers for dark climbs
Into the mouth of every ego blind
Shining and shaking
Like a misbegotten dime
Tangerine Stew
No brunette parade
In the strawberry shade
No crimson raid
Magenta fade
This is pure love of self
Lenin was a visionary
Without eyeballs
Communism his wife
Death his life
The system has not worked
And never will
Eight million dead thanks to this Red
Scraping bloody skies
Bludgeoned thighs
Lenin is no saint or revolutionary
But a tragic off-ramp from the freeway of sanity
There is no Red Square
Russia without wear
Just a cold war
History's non-bloody bore
There is yet a sad river
Shallow and untrue
Flowing into the mouth of Lenin's South
Somewhere near Moscow blue
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