#gdvba

The lights of the suburban windows hugging
San Gabriel mountains glow from a distance,
hiding the homes that surround them, letting
the hillside appear to be lit from within.

And even though, somewhere consciously,
you know that they're merely the side effects
of overbuilding the city, there's something comforting
in their presence--a star is a star is a star

when it reaches your vision.

You used to believe the center of the earth
was a churning sphere of skinless biceps,
flexing their muscles to keep the core rotating,
their heat keeping the world rolling.

And, of course, the time comes when
is is more than clear that the center of the earth
is a hollow globe, filled with turkey feathers
and arsenic. And there's nothing to do but deal with it.

In the end, though, it doesn't matter a bit--
it's going to keep spinning whether there's nobility,
hostility, or inevitability. You're going to drive away
from the snowy TV screen echoing across the valley,

or toward it, but it's not going anywhere, either way,
and you've got to choose.