by Wills Troubadour
My reflection shifts shapes on shop windows.
The skeptic. The believer. The concrete fooled by the abstract.
I kick stars along Hollywood Boulevard. They bulldoze
down the Walk of Fame and disappear in cracks.
I linger. I scan the fluorescent
metropolis. Palms cascade in the flamingo-
dipped dusk. Soaring tree trunks slant
toward the sunken citrus that has lost its glow.
In swirls behind me, desert winds whip.
They push me like a wildfire
and dare me to blaze cross-country, road trip
with panoramic eyes and a spare tire.
I begin east in my Jeep to find
myself and a new state of mind.
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