I’m on the midnight bus
To Los Angeles,
I wrote a bad check
For my ticket, but what the heck?
Could a fellow tell you more?
I’ll be there soon,
Riding near a full moon,
Knowing that I can’t stay,
Seeing you just one whole day.
I could land in jail!
A bandit needs the anonymity
Of living in the city.
The sky is clay, the street is grey
Outside the bus station at the start of day.
Watching all the selves unfold,
Hearing the woman, who spat,
“Fuck you. I speak Spanish.
Watch your language!”, and like that.
To the astonished couple in blue
Who hold between themselves a suitcase or two.
She’s crazy say their eyes,
Rising above their dirty shirts
And the young man kneeling with his guitar
And the Navy nurses running for the buses
And the streets a taxi couldn’t find.
Welcome to this world of mine.
For a dollar you can park.
You arrive like a smile into my face,
And we breakfast on the swaying pier.
We eat for $1.33 here.
Then two beers and some pool.
The surf is fair, but you’re a fool
To go out with so many surfers there.
Both of us could just grin-and-bear
Surrounded by all these banks
While the bankers jog
And the fog is still in the air
And in my head.
133 Long Beach Boulevard,
Do you think that things are getting hard
Or hardly getting on at all?
Not even you, my friend,
Will tell me in the end.
No matter how I spend my daily life away.
So I leave you by the moon’s eclipse.
And at 3 AM, when Orion arises, back home
The wind is warmer than your lips’ consent.
Things that never happened make me sigh.
Now is the hot morning of my discontent
And not a friend has stopped-by.