In Los Angeles
Sometimes I forget about poetry.
I forget that it exists even still, though I've ceased to believe in it that day--
that beauty of the mind made manifest.
But still, I reason, not carnal,
not incarnated; not flesh.
Instead, I quest ahead to live in my flesh in Los Angeles
and bask in the tangible sunlight there.
Wholly in my body, my mind is finally free to flutter away
So then, I wonder
how on Earth might I have misplaced poetry?