METROPOLIS

By Michael G

One more anti-hero worship
from the depths
of some enigmatic fool
that left the suburbs
for the open fields
of post modern flight from hell.
No, not from the quakes
or the rumblings of racism,
that stench we all tend
to want to get rid of,
but the fact that there
were just too many things wrong.
So off I went to the last
journey of my youth,
through the pubs and alleys
of Los Angeles that served
many nights of reckless talk
and the establishment be damned.
There goes Happy House, Scream
and all those open up at 10 pm
party houses, where you paid 5 bucks
to drink yourself to life,
and walk out Saturday morning at 6 am
like the kind demons we were.
And dance the pain that we had
kept for the week
and wonder what 30 would be like
and if the Virgin Prunes
were right about
"If I die I die".
But then, that love in your soul
the one that makes you write
and pour out those false indignities
that caress your heart and mind
for after all we've been through
stars have their moments and then they die.