5 Aug 2013, 12:59pm
Writing
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Homesick not homesick

I miss the Los Angeles basin and the real,
real nights, the lights of Santa Clarita
dotting the hillsides of the steep canyons

I go up to the reservoir in my green jeep
the old road corner by
the wet river

It’s been a river for some time
the flash floods
signs the mud nearly washed out

The road is broken in some places

The hedges are nestled by hillsides
hills nearly cliffs
these houses withstand so much
while others stumble
in the dry turn

This season is burning with no match
the lights are then floods
over me
the green hills turn to brown
so quick

I walk in sunshine
back to my world

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