Ascending
The hulking, burnt out husks,
Of rusting semi trucks-
Sleep here in dead grass
The putrid, wafting smell,
Of bloated, hot soul-shells-
Caress cars from the road side
The lean frames and hungry eyes,
Of feral cats go slipping by-
Over oil stains and empty cans
Darkness settles in on us,
Inside our tiny mini bus-
We're on our way to meet a man
We check the ties on our wax wings,
We've heard its bright but worth the sting-
Inside the City of Angels
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